x       .     •  '     :'     •     \      •         ]-•*'••/• 

dr    nl:  ):IH 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Santa  Barbara 
Public  Idbrary 


THE  GREAT  ELM* 


*6IRTH    TWENTY-SEVEN    FEET,    THREE    FEET   ABOVE    GROUND.       AWARDED    PRIZE    OFFERED   AT   PHILADELPHIA 
AS   LARGEST   TREE  OF  ITS  KIND  IN  U.  S. 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM 


A  TALE  OF  WESTERN   VIRGINIA 
BEFORE  THE   WAR 


BY  GRANVILLE  DAVISSON  HALL 


— Seldom  a  tale 
So  sad,  so  tender  and  so  true. 

— Shenstone. 


COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY  G.  D.  HALL 


CHICAGO: 

MAYER  &  MILLER,  PRINTERS  AND  PUBLISHERS 
1907 


PS 


PREFACE    TO    SECOND    EDITION. 


In  authorizing  a  reprint  of  the  Daughter 
of  the  Elm,  in  deference  to  a  persistent  de 
mand,  the  author  craves  leave  to  say  a 
word  of  grateful  acknowledgment  for  the 
flattering  reception  the  book  has  met.  No 
one  knows  better  than  he  that  the  work 
has  but  slender  claim  to  literary  merit;  yet 
it  appears  to  have  supplied  a  want.  It 
seems  there  is  in  it  a  similitude  behind 
which  many  readers  think  they  recognize 
real  incidents,  persons  and  places.  But  this 
friendly  reception  has  not  been  confined  to 
those  who  found  this  element  of  personal 
and  local  interest.  Copies  have  gone  into 
nearly  every  State  in  the  Union,  and  some 
across  the  sea.  Many  letter:;  have  come 
from  readers  who  knew  nothing  of  the  lo 
cal  similitude  expressing  their  pleasure  in 
the  perusal ;  others  from  readers  who  were 
curious  to  confirm  their  conjectures  as,  to 
the  identity  of  the  characters  in  the  story, 


862576 


6  PREFACE. 

some  begging  that  they  might  have  the  real 
names  in  confidence.  Some  were  so  sure 
they  recognized  old  acquaintances,  they 
even  remembered  persons  and  incidents 
that  never  existed  except  in  fiction.  The 
furor  in  the  Massachusetts  peninsula  over 
''Cape  Cod  Folks"  was  duplicated  in  the 
upper  Monongahela  Valley.  Newspapers 
in  two  counties  printed  tales  of  old-time 
tragedies,  mostly  traditional,  and  poets 
wrote  verses  about  the  great  elm  tree  on 
the  bank  of  the  West  Fork  river,  which 
they  believed  to  be  the  one  referred  to  in 
the  book.  Strangers  passing  through  the 
neighborhood  went  out  of  their  way  to  see 
it;  picnic  parties  went  long  distances  to 
take  their  pleasure  under  its  wide-spreading, 
branches.  The  great  tree,  having  been 
girdled  by  hogs,  was  fatally  stricken. 
Deep  was  the  grief  in  all  the  countryside. 
A  trolley  road  projected  along  the  valley 
found  the  tree  exactly  in  its  path  and 
planned  to  cut  it  away.  Then  grief  gave 
way  to  indignation,  and  protest  went  up 
from  the  local  press  till  the  trolley  people 
were  glad  to  go  around.  With  the  fall  of 


PREFACE.  7 

"the  last  leaf,"  plans  grew  up  for  the  pre 
servation  of  the  great  skeleton.  A  piece  of 
limb  was  cut  off  and  forwarded  to  the  au 
thor  of  the  book  as  a  souvenir.  A  restau 
rant  in  the  adjacent  village  was  named  the 
"Great  Elm."  A  cigar  of  generous  propor 
tions  was  the  "Big  Elm  Cigar."  Photo 
graphs  were  taken  of  the  "Elm  Farm,"  of 
the  old  Elm  house,  of  the  old  stone  man 
sion  in  the  Village,  of  the  "Blue  Boar  Tav 
ern"  ;  and  souvenir  cards  printed  and  sent 
broadcast. 

Some  readers  doubtless  think  they  per 
ceive  where  the  literary  necessities  of  the 
case  constrain  the  narration  to  deflect  from 
the  literal  path  to  follow  the  more  pleasing 
lines  required  by  the  equities  of  a  love 
story.  A  friend  who  called  on  me  a  few 
months  after  the  book  appeared,  after  a 
visit  to  the  old  farm  where  he  conjectured 
the  scene  was  laid,  and  who  had  an  ancient 
acquaintance  with  the  loves  and  the  trage 
dies  which  had  long  been  associated  with 
the  place,  protested  there  was  some  mis 
take.  Why,  he  said,  Loraine  died  of  a 
fever  and  was  buried  on  the  farm ;  and  in 


8  PREFACE. 

the  confusion  of  the  time  the  family  moved 
away  before  the  grave  was  marked.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  the  head-stone  was 
ready — so  long  that  when  it  finally  came, 
nobody  there  knew  where  to  find  the 
grave ;  and  to  this  day  that  marble  slab  may 
be  seen  leaning  against  an  apple  tree  near 
the  old  house.  The  gentle  ministrations  of 
rain  and  sun  had  healed  the  broken  sod; 
grasses  and  field  flowers  had  hidden  the 
grave  from  mortal  sight ;  the  earth  had 
claimed  its  own,  and  kindly  nature  had  ob 
literated  the  last  trace  of  one  who  had 
bloomed  like  the  flowers  that  blossomed 
above  her  grave  and  perished  as  prema 
turely  as  they.  If  my  friend  had  been  sure 
of  his  facts — if  she  who,  like  the  lover  of 
Evangeline,  "sleeps  in  a  nameless  grave," 
had  been  indeed  the  original  of  "Loraine," 
— then  he  would  have  had  some  reason  to 
complain  of  a  departure  from  the  path  of 
literal  fact.  But  his  information  was  at 
least  doubtful,  for  he  was  at  the  time  away 
at  the  front,  fighting  the  battles  of  his 
country,  and  had  nothing  better  than  hear 
say.  Let  us  recall  that  a  citizen  of  Kansas, 


PREFACE.  9 

who  in  his  youth  had  known  both  Loraine 
and  her  lover  in  Virginia,  wrote  to  a  friend 
in  Riverside  that  he  had  read  the  book  and 
it  was  "every  word  true;"  that  George 
Holmes  was  living  in  Kansas,  about  forty 
miles  distant  from  his  own  home;  that  he 
had  not  seen  him  but  others  who  knew  him 
had.  And,  now,  if  George  Holmes,  why 
not  Loraine?  Because  there  was  a  wide 
spread  belief  in  that  region  that  when 
George  Holmes  disappeared  he  had  been 
the  victim  .of  murder.  Perhaps  the  story 
of  the  death  and  burial  of  Loraine — the  lost 
'grave — the  unused  marble  slab — rests  on 
no  better  foundation  than  the  belief  that  the 
body  found  in  the  river  at  Worthlesston 
was  the  corpse  of  Holmes. 

Let  us  have  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Let 
us  rest  in  the  faith  of  the  happier  story  as 
it  is  told.  For  if  these  things  be  not  true, 
how  could  they  ever  have  been  put  in  a 
book?  *  *  * 

The  author  regrets  there  is  some  ground 
for  an  objection  made  to  the  book  by  a 
Pittsburgh  book  house  on  account  of  the 


10  PREFACE. 

profanity  in  it.  In  deference  to  the  criti 
cism — the  justice  of  which  he  does  not  con 
test — he  admits  some  of  Mr.  Dyson's  re 
marks  might  well  be  omitted.  But  when  a 
writer  undertakes  to  portray  persons  whose 
habitual  language  is  profane,  he  cannot  be 
true  to  nature  nor  faithful  to  his  art  with 
out  allowing  them  to  swear  a  little.  Be 
sides,  we  all  know  that  in  this  modern  reign 
of  Midas — as  the  newspapers  daily  testify 
—Pittsburgh  is  the  most  highly  moral  of 
all  the  cities  mentioned  in  history — with  the 
possible  exception  of  Sodom  and  Gomor 
rah — and  some  allowance  may  be  made  for 
the  new  decalogue  in  operation  there  which 
embraces  a  commandment  to  this  effect: 
Thou  shalt  not  swear,  but,  if  your  name  is 
Dives,  all  else  is  permitted  you. 


The  last  word  to  reach  me  about  any  of 
the  (supposed)  characters  in  this  book  is  in 
a  letter  from  a  prominent  citizen  of  Marion 
county,  West  Virginia,  Mr.  James  B.  Fox, 
of  Farmington,  who  died  a  few  weeks  after 
his  letter  was  written.  To  a  business  let- 


PREFACE.  11 

ter  written  in  June,  1905,  Mr.  Fox  added 
the  following: 

''It  may  be  of  some  interest  to  you  to  hear  that 
Capt.  Jack  Apperson,  as  he  was  known  in  Poca- 
hontas  county,  died  on  June  20,  1903.  The  writer, 
while  serving  as  a  member  of  the  legislature,  be 
came  acquainted  with  Dr.  Price,  member  from 

Pocahontas    county,    who    was    's    (Apper- 

son's)  physician  in  his  last  sickness.  He  made  a 
confession  to  the  Doctor  which  was  not  to  be 
made  public  for  some  time  in  the  future." 

The  reader  will  understand  that  the  per 
son  here  referred  to  is  he  who  masquerades 
in  the  book  as  "Harry  Esmond."  But  Ap 
person  was  not  his  real  name,  any  more 
than  Esmond. 

Mr.  Fox  mentioned  also  the  death  of  Lot 
Dyson  at  Wallace,  West  Virginia,  in  De 
cember,  1903.  "Before  his  death,"  Mr.  Fox 
writes,  "the  young  men  who  had  read 

your  book  would  read  extracts  to  Mr. 

(Dyson)  and  ask  him  about  the  circum 
stances.  They  also  called  him  'Lot  Dy 
son,'  which  he  seemed  to  enjoy  very 
much."  G,  D.  H. 

Glencoe,  111.,  June,  1907. 


12  PREFACE. 


PREFACE  TO  FIRST  EDITION. 


Thirty-eight  years  ago,  "an  old  man, 
broken  by  the  storms"  of  misfortune  and 
wrong,  came  to  me  and  with  burning  eyes 
and  quavering  voice  begged  that  I  would 
write  down  the  things  he  would  tell  me. 
He  poured  out  in  rude,  impassioned 
speech,  much  of  it  with  bated  breath  little 
above  a  whisper,  a  tale  of  lawlessness  that 
ran  through  years  and  culminated  in  the 
murder  of  one  of  his  own  blood.  The  peo 
ple  of  whom  he  spoke  and  something  of 
the  history  related  by  him  were  already 
known  to  me.  The  notes  then  taken  down 
from  the  lips  of  one  who  has  long  since 
paid  the  debt  of  nature  were  for  a  long 
time  lost  to  sight  and  memory.  Lately 
coming  upon  them  by  accident,  and  read 
ing  anew  the  simple,  graphic  words,  ap 
pealing  to  me  thus  out  of  the  silence  and 
mists  of  almost  forgotten  years,  the  drama 


PREFACE.  13 

of  which  the  old  man's  story  was  a  part 
comes  back  to  me  with  the  vividness  of  life, 
and  I  submit  the  story  of  it  to  that  uni 
versal  tribunal  of  publicity  which  can  be 
trusted  to  award  the  justice  denied  else 
where.  There  are  those  yet  living  who 
will  know  how  much  of  this  recital  is  real ; 
and  if  while  rendering  justice  on  the  one 
hand,  any  unintentidhal  injustice  should  be 
done  on  the  other,  let  it  be  remembered 
that  seldom,  even  in  the  republic  of  letters, 
are  the  scales  of  the  blind  goddess  quite 
evenly  balanced. 

As  the  darkest  clouds  have  a  silver  lin 
ing,  so  the  tragedies  of  life  are  nearly  al 
ways  gilded  with  the  diviner  drama  of 
Love;  and,  true  to  nature,  this  thread  of 
gold  will  be  found  to  run  through  the 
darker  web  woven  in  these  pages. 

Glencoe,  111.,  December  15,  1899. 


14  PREFACE. 


EXEGESIS   OF   THE   LOVE   STORY. 


(From  a  review  by  a  newspaper  correspondent.) 

*  *  *  The  title  of  the  book  is  well  chosen, 
for  the  heroine  is  the  central  figure  in  the  story. 
She  enters  in  the  .first  chapter  with  her  girlish 
impatience  for  the  coming  of  her  tever,  eager  to 
warn  him  against  the  evil  lines  laid  for  him.  She 
bids  us  farewell  on  the  porch  of  her  Kansas  cot 
tage;  and  she  is*  the  one  character  with  a  moral 
purpose  all  the  way  through.  She  parts  with  the 
reader  a  wife  and  mother,  who  despite  this  rela 
tion,  in  which  she  is  as  faithful  as  integrity  can 
make  a  human  being,  has  made  the  great  sacrifice, 
as  many  like  her  do,  in  uncomplaining  submission 
to  the  decree  of  fate.  Wherever  she  appears  be 
tween  that  advent  and  this  farewell,  she  is  the 
pure,  true-hearted  girl  and  woman,  living  her 
lonely,  companionless,  almost  loveless,  life,  faith 
ful  to  her  obligation  at  a  cost  which  she  does 
not  even  admit  to  herself.  Of  love  and  compan 
ionship  after  the  age  of  childish  affection,  she  has 
none.  She  is  in  her  soul  as  much  alone  as  Cru 
soe  on  his  island. 


PREFACE.  15 

The  first  love,  and  the  one  that  shapes  her  life, 
comes  to  her  by  force  of  circumstances.  Her 
affection  for  young  Holmes  grows  out  of  pity 
for  a  lad  who  needed  the  firm  direction  of  a 
mother  more  than  he  did  a  sweetheart;  and  with 
out  experience  to  warn  her  against  such  a  sacri 
fice,  she  pledges  an  unreserved  troth ;  from  which 
when  later  she  comes  to  realize  what  an  adequate 
love  would  be  to  her,  she  never  for  a  moment 
thinks  of  withdrawing. 

Her  meeting  with  St.  George  is  like  the  meet 
ing  of  the  drooping  flower  with  the  vernal  sun 
and  shower.  There  bloomed  in  her  at  once  a 
conception  of  what  life  would  be  with  a  con 
genial  spirit,  and  at  the  same  time  she  was  awak 
ened  to  a  realization  of  her  own  untoward  fate. 
There  was  the  mutual  recognition  of  kindred 
souls ;  St.  George's  perception  of  her  terrible  posi 
tion,  "worse  than  an  alien  in  her  own  home,"  and 
her  perception  that  he  understood  it.  Had  there 
been  no  meeting  but  the  first,  the  poor  girl's  fate 
would  have  been  less  tragic,  for  her  dream  would 
have  faded  like  "the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision." 
But  the  second  meeting  completes  the  fatal  initia 
tive  of  the  first.  It  warms  and  quickens  what 
each  had  been  feeling  and  meditating  in  the  inter 
val. 

Love  at  first  sight  is  not  the  phantasy  some 
would  have  us  believe.  Nature  prepares  the  mated 


16  PREFACE. 

souls  for  instant  recognition.  We  see  this  in  the 
meeting  on  the  lawn  where  St.  George  finds  Lo- 
raine  taking  up  the  plants ;  in  the  impulse  that 
prompts  him  to  ask  for  the  walk  by  the  river 
and  her  preparedness  for  the  request.  We  feel 
it  as  much  in  their  silent  cognition  of  each  other 
as  in  their  conversation — he  impulsive  and  glow 
ing  with  an  ardor  that  might  have  carried  him 
to  any  length ;  she  profoundly  affected  but  crushed 
under  the  consciousness  of  her  obligation  to  an 
other  which  compels  her  to  put  aside  the  love 
St.  George  is  eager  to  proffer  her.  How  keenly 
he  feels  the  chill;  how  deeply  she  is  moved  by 
his  endeavor  not  to. show  his  hurt;  and  in  part 
ing  with  him  hastily  at  the  moment  when  his  im 
pulsive  speech  threatens  to  break  down  the  bar 
riers  of  her  reserve,  she  cannot  but  let  him  see 
in  her  eyes  that  her  heart  is  his,  while  denying 
him  any  other  admission  of  it. 

"I  have  been  admiring  this  great  elm,"  says 
St.  George,  "as  one  of  the  things  I  have  found 
here  to  admire."  How  well  Loraine  knows  she  is 
the  other  thing  he  has  found  to  admire.  Yet  she 
affects  unconsciousness  of  it  in  the  pretty  speech 
in  which  she  tells  him  how  in  her  loneliness  she 
comes  to  the  elm  for  the  sense  of  companionship 
and  protection  it  affords  her,  and  which  (she  does 
not  tell  him)  she  finds  nowhere  else. 


PREFACE.  17 

The  pathos  of  the  story  comes  out  in  her  warn 
ing  to  St.  George  and  the  parting  at  Riverside, 
though  neither  could  have  realized  at  the  time 
that  it  was  forever ;  again  in  the  reference  to 
St.  George  at  Pittsburgh  in  after  years,  with  his 
lovely  wife  and  luxurious  home,  but  with  a 
shadow  in  his  heart  in  which  is  hidden  away  the 
image  of  Loraine  Esmond,  sighing  like  the  Judge 
in  Maude  Muller  over  the  perversity  of  fate  and 
the  "might  have  been." 

And  what  of  her?  "She  closed  the  door  for 
ever  on  everything  but  the  memory  of  him ;"  but 
she  perpetuates  that  memory  in  his  name  given 
to  her  boy  and  secretly  prays  he  may  grow  up 
to  be  a  man  befitting  the  name,  at  the  same  time 
never  for  an  instant  faltering  in  her  faithfulness 
to  the  child's  father,  who  while  not  unworthy  is 
unequal  to  her  and  can  never  fill  the  void  which 
so  many  lives  like  hers  carry  to  the  grave. 

Such  is  the  crucifixion  of  this  noble  life.  How 
many  other  women  go  through  the  world  as  she 
does,  treading  the  wine-press  alone,  acting  their 
part  in  the  bloodless  tragedies  which  make  the 
secret  shadow  at  many  a  fireside. 


18  PREFACE. 


[ADVERTISEMENT.] 


It  was  supposed  by  the  writer  of  this 
book  that  no  more  than  one  edition — if  all 
of  that — would  ever  be  called  for.  Hence 
the  pages  were  not  electrotyped.  But  the 
first  edition  was  exhausted  two  years  ago, 
and  there  has  been  a  persistent  demand  for 
the  book  ever  since.  If  the  work  had  then 
been  "plated,"  later  editions  could  have  been 
produced  at  lower  prices  than  the  first;  but 
the  cost  now  proves  to  be  more  than  forty 
per  cent  higher,  so  that  an  advance  has  to 
be  made  in  the  price.  The  Daughter  of  the 
Elm  was  originally  accepted  by  a  New  York 
publisher  (F.  Tennyson  Neely)  who  would 
have  brought  it  out  but  for  the  failure  of 
his  house.  The  price  at  which  he  proposed 
to  publish  was  that  at  which  the  second  edi 
tion  is  now  offered.  This  is  an  advance  of 
twenty-five  per  cent,  while  the  cost,  as 


PREFACE.  19 

stated,  has  increased  forty  per  cent.  The 
cost  has  been  further  increased  by  the  in 
troduction  of  illustrations  in  deference  to 
the  general  interest  and  belief  among  local 
readers  that  these .  are  places  and  objects 
referred  to  in  the  book. 

June,  1907. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  21 


CHAPTER  I. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

The.  plighted  partner  of  his  future  life, 
They  met,  embraced,  and  sat  embowered 
In  woody  chambers  of  the  starry  night. 

— Pollok. 


A  cloudless  Sabbath  in  June,  when,  if 
ever,  come  perfect  days,  had  nearly  run  its 
appointed  course.  The  sun  had  dipped 
behind  a  great  hill  in  the  west,  and  the 
lengthening  shade  had  reached  across  the 
valley  marked  by  a  branch  of  the  upper 
Monongahela,  but  still  left  the  woods  and 
fields  of  the  rising  landscape  on  the  farther 
side  of  the  river  gilded  with  the  glory  of 
the  summer  sunset. 

Along  the  west  bank  of  the  river,  half 
hidden  by  trees,  ran  a  sandy  road  that  fol 
lowed  the  curvings  of  the  stream  and  the 
inequalities  of  the  ground;  and  beside  this 
road  a  great  elm  tree,  famous  far  and  near 
for  its  extraordinary  proportions  and  its 


22  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

magnificent  spread  of  limb  and  leaf,  tow 
ered  above  field  and  river  like  some  gigan 
tic  sentinel  left  on  guard  by  the  departed 
ages. 

An  ancient  two-storied  farmhouse,  built 
of  hewed  logs,  which  had  seen  better  days 
but  could  never  boast  of  much  architec 
tural  beauty,  stood  at  the  end  of  a  lane  a 
few  hundred  feet  from  the  river  road.  Not 
far  away  were  the  farm  buildings — stable 
and  barn  combined,  cribs  and  pens — all, 
like  the  house,  originally  built  of  logs, 
but  patched  and  added  to  with  rough 
boards;  all,  like  the  house  again,  innocent 
of  paint  and  gray  with  time  and  exposure. 
Around  the  house  was  a  lawn  of  natural 
beauty,  but  evidently  not  an  object  of 
much  care.  Some  rose  bushes,  now  in 
bloom,  some  unpretending  beds  of  old- 
fashioned  flowers,  a  few  groups  of  glowing 
geraniums,  indicated  the  presence  of  femi 
nine  taste  and  the  touch  of  womanly  hands. 
The  fences,  garden,  and  other  surround 
ings  had  that  indescribable  aspect  of  neglect 
which,  while  not  indicating  poverty  or  at 
taining  to  squalor,  showed  the  lack  of  that 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  23 

sympathetic  care  and  touch  that  make  a 
home  look  like  the  dwelling  place  of  the 
human  domestic  virtues.  Although  the 
farm  to  which  all  these  belonged  embraced 
many  broad  acres  of  foiling  bottom  and 
gently  sloping  hill,  all  fertile  of  soil,  it,  too, 
in  field  and  fence,  had  the  same  air  of  neg 
lect  and  thriftlessness  as  the  buildings  and 
fences  about  the  homestead. 

Under  the  great  elm  at  the  foot  of  the 
lane,  now  enclosed  by  a  board  fence  that 
helps  to  make  a  pig-yard,  was  then  a  rough 
bench  made  of  a  large  poplar  slab,  set  flat 
side  up,  with  legs  in  two-inch  auger  holes 
at  the  corners.  This  bench — hacked, 
notched,  carved,  and  scratched  with  ini 
tials — told  the  story  of  many  an  idle  hour, 
of  many  a  perplexed  brain  that  had  tried 
to  work  out  its  solutions  with  the  edge  of 
a  knife  on  the  helpless  slab;  of  many  a 
rendezvous,  perhaps,  to  concoct  villainy; 
of  many  a  meeting  of  the  gentler  sort 
which  had  left  its  memorial  in  the  inter 
twined  initials,  like  those  one  so  often  finds 
on  the  smooth  bark  of  the  beeches 
along  the  river  bottoms  of  this  same 


24  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

region.  Had  this  old  bench  been  endowed 
with  a  memory  and  a  tongue — or,  bet 
ter  still,  with  the  modern  witness  of  a 
graphophone  in  concealment — it  might 
have  repeated  to  these  later  years  secrets 
and  legends,  dark  and  otherwise,  that 
would  have  made  material  for  many  a  ro 
mantic  structure. 

A  few  hundred  yards  up  the  stream,  the 
river-bed  was  broken  by  rugged  rocks  over 
which  the  clear  summer  flood  rippled  and 
murmured  as  it  made  its  way  through  the 
narrow  channels  to  the  deeper  bed  directly 
opposite  the  elm,  where  the  smoother 
waters  at  that  moment  reflected  the  tints 
of  the  glowing  sky. 

Across  the  river,  here  three  or  four  hun 
dred  feet  wide,  a  small  stream  came  down 
from  the  hills  to  the  east  and  south  and 
turned  its  little  tribute  over  to  this  branch 
of  the  Monongahela ;  and  on  the  lower 
bank  of  this  creek,  in  sight  of  the  elm,  was 
a  ragged  cabin  with  a  rude  garden  about 
it  and  a  ruder  smithy,  surrounded  by  evi 
dences  that  the  tenant  divided  his  time  be 
tween  tinkering  and  fishing. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  25 

On  the  rough  bench  under  the  elm  at 
this  hour  rests  a  young  girl,  slender  and 
graceful  of  figure,  plainly  though  neatly 
dressed.  The  face  is  brunette,  of  exquisite 
loveliness,  with  dark,  lustrous  eyes  fringed 
with  long,  jetty  lashes ;  features  regular 
and  delicate;  mouth  sweet,  reserved,  and 
somewhat  qualified  by  a  resolute  chin. 
The  expression  of  the  face  just  now  is  pen 
sive,  if  not  sad,  and  there  is  a  shade  of 
anxiety  and  restlessness  that  finds  expres 
sion  in  frequent  glances  up  the  river  road 
and  across  the  river.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  river  a  path  comes  down  to  the  brink, 
where  a  spreading  beech  sends  its  roots  to 
the  water's  edge  and  furnishes  mooring 
for  a  small,  flat-bottomed  boat  chained 
to  a  root  and  equipped  with  a  single  pad 
dle. 

At  times  the  girl  rises  and  walks  along 
the  path  under  the  elm,  in  her  hand  a  sim 
ple  straw  hat  with  ribbons  to  tie  under  the 
chin ;  and  she  swings  the  hat  by  the  rib 
bons  as  if  to  find  relief  from  her  impa 
tience.  .  Then  she  seats  herself  again,  and 
the  eyes  rove  from  the  river  road  to  the 


26  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

path  that  ends  under  the  beech  on  the  other 
side. 

Now  she  catches  a  glimpse,  and  now 
gets  a  full  view,  of  a  youthful,  manly  fig 
ure  who  walks  down  past  the  cottage  and 
smithy  and  quickens  his  step  as  he  comes 
within  range  of  the  seat  under  the  elm, 
crosses  the  creek  on  the  frail  foot  bridge, 
strides  over  the  intervening  point,  and  is 
quickly  under  the  tree  which  holds  captive 
the  little  boat.  The  girl  springs  from  the 
seat,  runs  across  the  road  and  down  the 
bank  to  the  edge  of  the  river,  and  calls 
his  name  in  a  low  voice  that  thrills  with 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  him.  He  replies 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  swiftly  unfastens 
the  boat,  and,  giving  it  a  powerful  push, 
springs  into  it  and  seizes  the  paddle.  In 
two  or  three  minutes  the  boat  grates  on 
the  gravel  at  her  feet,  and,  springing  out, 
he  pulls  it  up  on  the  beach  and  advances  to 
meet  her.  At  the  moment  he  approaches 
she  looks  quickly  around,  up  and  down  the 
river  and  up  to  the  road.  Not  a  creature 
is  in  sight,  and  she  turns  to  him  and  ac 
cepts  the  kiss  which  sends  the  rich  color 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  27 

to  cheek  and  brow  and  lends  softness  to 
the  dark  eyes.  They  clasp  hands  and  walk- 
thus,  hand  in  hand,  up  to  the  seat,  where 
for  a  few  moments  they  stand  conversing 
in  low  tones  that  are  not  for  us  to  hear. 
Presently  there  comes  a  pause,  and  they 
turn  and  sit  down  on  the  bench  in  a  way  to 
suggest  that  it  is  an  old  and  dear  friend 
that  is  deep  in  their  most  sacred  confi 
dences. 

She  takes  off  her  hat  and  holds  it  on 
her  lap,  a  little  nervous,  as  if  not  knowing 
quite  how  to  begin,  while  a  shade  of  con 
cern  overcasts  her  face. 

"George,"  she  says,  at  length,  "I  wanted 
you  to  come,  and  still  I  hoped  you  would 
not." 

"Why,  Loraine,"  with  a  little  surprise. 
"What  is  it?" 

"Because  the  boys  are  going  out  to 
night,  and  they  want  you  to  go  with  them, 
and  I  don't  want  you  to  go." 

"Where  are  they  going,  and  what  is  to 
be  done?"  he  asked. 

"I  can't  find  out.  None  of  them  will 
tell  me.  Lynn  has  been  here  since  last 


28  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

night,  and  Lot  came  down  about  an  hour 
ago,  and  when  Lynn  comes  I  know  there 
is  mischief  to  be  done.  They  have  been  in 
the  barn,  feeding  and  rubbing  down  their 
horses,  cleaning  and  loading  pistols,  and 
making  great  preparations  for  something; 
and  they  are  so  excited  and  mysterious. 
I  overheard  Lot  say,  'George  has  got  to 
go;  he  promised  to  be  here  before  sun 
down.'  " 

"I  did  half  promise,"  he  said,  "to  go 
with  them  to-night,  though  they  did  not 
tell  me  what  they  were  going  after.  Lot 
said  he  would  tell  me  when  I  came  down. 
But  I  can't  go;  I  have  nothing  to  ride. 
Lize  cast  a  shoe,  and  father  took  Bet  this 
morning  and  went  up  to  Uncle  Andy's 
and  will  not  be  home  till  morning.  I 
would  not  go  anyhow  if  you  did  not  want 
me  to." 

He  was  not  looking  at  her  and  did  not 
see  the  quick  flush  of  pleasure  these  last 
words  brought  into  her  face. 

It  was  growing  dusk.  Presently  there 
was  a  confusion  of  voices  at  the  house,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  the  clatter  of  horses' 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM.  29 

feet  coming  down  the  lane.  Four  men, 
one  of  whom  was  the  girl's  brother,  rode 
rapidly  down  the  road.  Seeing  the  figures 
on  the  bench,  they  pulled  up  abruptly,  and, 
riding  -  .close  to  see  who  they  were,  the 
leader  addressed  the  girl's  companion : 

"George  Holmes,  you  here!      What    the 
does  this  mean  ?  Where's  your  horse  ?" 


The  person  addressed  in  this  rude  fash 
ion  rose  to  his  feet,  as  he  replied  in  a  man 
ner  slightly  apologetic : 

"Lize  is  lame,  and  the  old  man  rode  Bet 
up  to  Uncle  Andy's.  He  started  this  morn 
ing  before  I  Was  up,  and  mother  said  he 
was  going  to  stay  all  night.  I  walked  down 
to  tell  you,  and  would  have  been  up  to  the 
house  if  I  hadn't  happened  to  find  Loraine 
here.  You'll  have  to  go  without  me  to 
night." 

There  were  black  looks  on  all  the  faces. 

"This  is  a  pretty  how-d'ye-do,"  said  the 
leader.  "We  will  see  about  this  when  we 
come  back;  there's  no  time  to  waste 
now." 


30  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

He  gave  the  rein  to  his  horse  and 
dashed  up  the  road,  the  rest  following  at  a 
gallop. 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence,  each  of 
the  pair  evidently  wrestling  with  troubled 
thoughts. 

"George,"  said  the  girl  at  last,  "where 
will  all  this  end?" 

She  shivered  a  little  as  she  spoke,  as  if 
at  that  instant  the  shadow  of  impending 
calamity  passed  before  her  spirit. 

"What  are  we  to  do?  If  the  boys  keep 
this  up,  I  know  it  will  end  in  misfortune  for 
all  of  us." 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  her  voice 
faltered.  She  looked  across  the  river  into 
the  deepening  shade  of  the  woods.  Her 
companion  did  not  speak  at  once. 

"God  knows,"  he  said,  "that  I  have 
wished  a  thousand  times  that  it  had  never 
been  begun.  They  all  blame  me  because  I 
don't  enter  into  their  plans  with  as  much 
zeal  as  they  do;  and  I  feel  as  you  do,  L,o- 
raine,  that  trouble  is  on  the  road  and  com 
ing  our  way." 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  31 

"I  have  begged  Harry,"  she  said,  sup 
pressing  a  sob,  "to  give  up  these  wild 
night  rides  and  settle  down  at  home  and 
look  after  the  farm,  which  needs  it;  and 
he  seems  moved  sometimes  by  what  I  say ; 
but  when  Lynn  and  Lot  and  the  rest  get 
around  him  and  flatter  him  as  their  leader, 
he  falls  in  with  anything  they  propose  and 
is  as  reckless  as  the  worst  of  them." 

Silence  fell  with  the  darkness  on  the 
couple  sitting  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
great  tree.  Despite  their  anxieties,  they 
were  too  much  absorbed  in  the  mutual  joy 
of  youthful  affection  to  take  much  real 
trouble  about  anything.  One  after  an 
other  the  stars  came  out,  and  in  the  dim 
radiance  of  the  peerless  night  they  re 
mained  an  hour  longer,  with  only  occa 
sional  exchanges  of  speech,  deep  in  the  ab 
sorption  of  that  complete  companionship 
which  needs  not  speech  to  express  it. 

At  length  the  girl  arose  and  said  they 
must  go  to  the  house.  Her  companion  hesi 
tated. 

"Come  up  to  the  house,"  she  said,  "and 


32  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

see  Eloise  and  mother.  You  will  stay  all 
night?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  "not  to-night.  I  don't 
want  to  see  anybody  else  to-night.  I  have 
to  be  home  early  in  the  morning,  and  it 
would  be  better  for  the  boys  not  to  find 
me  when  they  come  back  after  midnight." 

She  acquiesced,  with  some  reluctance. 
They  walked  up  the  lane  together,  and  after 
a  little  lingering  at  the  gate,  which  they  had 
not  the  heart  to  deny  themselves,  he  re 
turned  to  the  river,  recrossed  in  the  boat, 
and  walked  home  under  the  starlight,  re 
volving,  along  with  tender  thoughts  of  her 
he  had  left,  the  growing  seriousness  of  his 
relations  with  her  daredevil  brothers  and 
the  rest  of  the  lawless  band  with  whom  he 
was  so  entangled  he  could  not  see  the  way 
out. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  33 


CHAPTER  II. 

HISTORICAL  AND  PERSONAL. 
The   prince   of   darkness    is   a    gentleman. 

— Shakespeare. 

In  the  early  fifties  there  came  to  the  vil 
lage  of  Riverside  from  a  town  on  the  lower 
Monongahela,  in  Pennsylvania,  one  Jacob 
Holmes,  who  was  a  wagon  maker,  an  hon 
est,  hard-working  man  of  German  stock, 
past  middle  age,  with  half  a  dozen  sons  and 
daughters,  of  whom  two  or  three  were 
grown  to  near  womanhood  and  manhood. 
Holmes  was  quiet,  steady,  devoted  to  his 
shop,  turned  out  good  work,  and  deserved 
to  prosper. 

His  eldest  son,  George,  then  about  com 
ing  of  age — a  good-looking,  amiable  boy, 
the  pet  of  an  indulgent,  injudicious  mother 
— had  not  been  required  to  enter  his  father's 
shop  nor  to  learn  any  other  trade  or  busi 
ness.  While  the  father  and  his  jour 
neyman,  "Jimmy"  English,  were  driving 


34  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

the  shop  with  unremitting  assiduity, 
George  was  free  to  divert  himself  by  rid 
ing  around  visiting  relatives,  of  whom  there 
were  several  in  the  neighborhood,  or  in 
making  other  acquaintances  and  finding 
means  of  amusement. 

One  of  the  first  families  to  whom  he  was 
attracted  was  the  Esmonds,  who  owned  a 
farm  lying  along  the  river  on  the  opposite 
side  from  the  village,  and  a  short  distance 
below,  the  homestead  being  at  the  lower  end 
of  the  place,  and  distinguished  by  a  new 
owner  in  later  years  as  "The  Great  Elm." 

In  that  household  were  several  sons  and 
two  daughters,  the  younger  near  George's 
age;  and  there  were  usually  some  hired 
men  about  the  farm,  which  seems  to  have 
been  managed  without  much  system  or 
profit.  The  elder  sons  were  reputed  to  be 
rather  wild,  and  the  place  was  frequented 
by  associates  and  visitors  of  kindred  de 
scription.  It  was  claimed  that  this  younger 
set  had  come  by  their  obliquity,  their  way 
ward  temper  and  reckless  ways,  by  honest 
inheritance.  A  few  people  believed  (but 
for  reasons  of  prudence  did  not  publish 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  35 

their  opinions  from  the  housetops)  that 
darker  trades  than  farming  had  been  car 
ried  on  about  the  place  from  a  pretty  early 
day. 

Young  Holmes  found  the  company  he 
met  there  suited  to  his  inclinations,  and, 
being  of  an  irresolute  temper,  with  no  fixed 
purpose  in  life,  fond  of  idleness  and  pleas 
ure,  he  by  degrees  fell  entirely  under  the 
influence  of  the  stronger  spirits  with  whom 
he  became  associated,  and  was  carried  along 
by  the  current  of  inclination  and  circum- 

i 

stances  until  he  became  subservient  not  only 
to  their  will  and  purposes,  but  imbued  with 
like  wild  and  lawless  desires,  which  drove 
them  from  one  adventure  to  another,  till 
there  was  little  too  daring  or  law-defying 
for  them  to  undertake. 

His  parents  found  after  a  year  or  two 
that  he  was  in  bad  company.  They  often 
besought  him  to  give  it  up,  and  for  the 
moment  he  would  be  penitent  and  promise 
to  break  away  from  it.  But  he  had  gone  too 
far  to  withdraw,  even  had  he  been  made  of 
firmer  stuff  than  he  was.  He  had  become 
cognizant  of,  if  not  participant  in,  many  of 


36  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

the  Esmond  gang's  offenses,  and  realized 
at  last  that  he  could  not  break  with  them 
except  at  the  peril  of  his  life.  Infirm  of 
purpose,  easily  swayed  by  stronger  natures, 
perplexed  by  the  growing  distrust  of  his  as 
sociates,  he  shut  his  eyes  to  considerations 
of  rectitude  or  of  safety  and  drifted  with 
the  current  that  was  setting  strongly  to 
wards  the  cataract. 

Harry  Esmond — "Handsome  Harry"- 
the  elder  of  the  brothers  at  home,  was  the 
leading  spirit  at  this  time  of  a  group  that 
embraced  more  in  its  fellowship  and  had 
wider  ramifications  than  was  suspected 
even  by  the  few  in  the  neighborhood  who 
thought  themselves  well-informed.  He 
was  not  by  any  means  the  most  vicious  or 
desperate  of  the  lot ;  but  he  was  a  natural 
and  recognized  leader  by  virtue  of  his  per 
sonal  superiority  and  force  of  character. 
He  was  quick  to  grasp  a  situation  or 
see  an  opportunity,  had  a  cool  head  and 
capacity  to  plan  enterprises.  He  had  the 
generous,  large-minded  way  of  dealing 
with  his  fellows  characteristic  of  leader 
ship,  and  they  looked  to  him  for  direction 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.  37 

as  naturally  as  he  to  them  for  obedience  and 
support. 

"Handsome  Harry"  never  had  any  lik 
ing  for  work.  He  might  help  a  little  in  an 
emergency  like  harvest;  but  the  drudgery 
of  regular  work  or  business  did  not  agree 
with  him,  and  the  thought  of  giving  his 
years  to  such  a  humdrum  life  was  not  to 
be  entertained.  While  the  paternal  Es 
mond,  the  younger  boys,  and  the  hired 
men  looked  after  the  farm,  Harry  walked 
around  or  rode  about  like  a  gentleman  of 
leisure,  wore  good  clothes,  kept  his  hands 
soft  and  his  brain  busy  planning  means  of 
amusing  himself,  and,  finally,  enterprises  of 
greater  pith  and  moment. 

Some  of  his  subordinates  displayed  na 
ture's  diplomas  on  their  faces.  Lynn  John 
son  was  slight,  dark-visaged,  hatchet- 
faced,  with  snaky  black  eyes,  and  had 
cunning  and  villainy  written  in  every  linea 
ment.  Lot  Dyson  was  a  great,  gaunt, 
hulking  ruffian,  with  shoulders  like  Mc 
Ginn's  "Irishman"  and  a  face  that  had  the 
hungry  look  of  a  beast  of  prey,  as  if  some 
predatory  wolf  had  been  reincarnated  in  his 


38  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

uncouth  person.  Ray  Harris  was  big,  ox- 
like,  heavy-jawed,  rather  good-natured  on 
the  average,  but  controlled  by  considerations 
looking  to  profit  or  gratification  of  the 
grosser  kind.  There  was  an  elder  son  of  the 
Esmond  family  married  and  living  in  the 
neighborhood,  part  of  the  time  in  the  vil 
lage,  without  apparent  occupation  or  visible 
means  of  support. 

At  the  time  this  history  opens,  Harry 
Esmond  had  tender  relations  with  the 
daughter  of  a  blacksmith  in  the  village,  one 
Byers,  who  lived  in  an  old  stone  house  on 
the  river  bank  built  in  Indian  times,  with 
walls  near  a  yard  thick  and  windows  not 
much  larger  than  the  loopholes  in  a  block 
house.  This  old  stone  house  was  for  a 
time  quite  a  resort  for  the  chief  of  the 
gang,  not  always  for  reasons  of  gallantry, 
for  the  blacksmith  seems  to  have  had  a 
pretty  intimate  knowledge  of  some  of  the 
exploits  of  Harry  and  his  friends  and  to 
have  lent  a  little  assistance  at  times,  as 
occasion  seemed  to  require. 

But  the  village  rendezvous  of  the  gang 
was  the  Blue  Boar  tavern,  kept  by  Jonas 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  39 

Blue — among  his  cronies  familiarly  "Jone" 
— who  found  it  profitable  to  his  bar,  if  not 
otherwise,  to  be  on  good  terms  with  these 
roystering  fellows,  who  always  had  money 
to  spend  for  drink,  and  he  finally  appears 
to  have  become  their  confidant,  if  not  co 
adjutor  and  adviser,  in  their  lawless  ex 
ploits. 

When  Jonas  became  the  owner  of  the 
hostelry,  he  had  a  big  square  sign  made  to 
be  mounted  on  a  post  by  the  pavement, 
and  had  the  village  painter — who,  along 
with  his  artistic  accomplishments,  com 
bined,  with  a  pleasant  humor,  the  trades 
of  chairmaker  and  politician — paint  on  the 
panel  an  enormous  black  boar,  with  tusks 
of  almost  elephantine  length.  Through 
some  chemical  fault  in  the  paint  (possibly) 
the  black,  after  a  few  months'  exposure 
to  the  weather,  turned  to  be  "darkly,  deep 
ly,  beautifully  blue."  The  general  opinion 
of  the  village  was  that  the  transformation 
was  the  result  of  some  trick  on  the  part 
of  the  waggish  painter,  but  Blue  himself 
saw  in  it  a  distinct  interposition  of  Provi 
dence  in  compliment  to  himself  as  giving  his 


40  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

name  to  the  tavern — and  blue  the  beast  was 
allowed  to  remain. 

While  Harry  Esmond  was  inclined  and 
accustomed  to  plan  bold  enterprises  away 
from  his  own  neighborhood,  some  of  his 
followers  were  not  above  jobs  that  could 
hardly  be  classed  above  petty  larceny. 
One  night  a  lot  of  green  hides  were  stolen 
from  a  tannery  half  a  mile  south  of  the 
village  and  run  off  to  the  county  town, 
where  they  were  sold  by  Dyson.  A  little 
bolder  stroke  was  the  robbery  of  the  prin 
cipal  store  in  the  village  one  Saturday 
night.  An  auger  was  procured  by  Dyson 
from  the  wagon-shop  of  Jacob  Holmes, 
with  which  a  hole  was  bored  through  the 
shutter  and  the  latch  lifted.  A  small  sum 
of  money  was  taken  from  the  cash  drawer 
and  numerous  bolts  of  cloth  and  cassimere. 
underclothing,  stockings,  and  other  arti 
cles  of  attire  were  carried  away.  The  mer 
chant  and  other  citizens  could  guess  the 
direction  the  goods  had  gone. 

Monday  following  the  robbery  Mr. 
Holmes  sent  George  to  haul  a  load  of  coal 
for  Lot  Dyson,  who  lived  in  an  old  log 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  41 

house  on  the  "hill  farm"  of  the  Esmond 
estate.  Lot  was  to  meet  him  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill  where  the  coal  mine  was  and 
help  him  load,  but  when  George  arrived 
Lot  was  not  there,  and,  loading  himself, 
he  drove  on  up  to  the  house.  He  went  in, 
and,  rinding  Mrs.  Dyson  alone,  asked  for 
Lot.  At  this  moment,  hearing  a  noise 
overhead  .he  asked  her  who  was  upstairs. 
She  would  not  tell  him,  and,  being  famil 
iar  with  the  house  as  well  as  with  its 
inmates,  he  went  upstairs,  and,  approach 
ing  the  room  from  which  the  noise  ap 
peared  to  come,  he  pushed  against  the  door 
(which  was  insecurely  fastened  by  a  wood 
en  button  inside).  The  door  flew  open 
and  disclosed  Dyson,  Lynn  Johnson,  and 
"Johnny"  Hooker,  with  bolts  of  goods  and 
clothing  spread  out  on  a  bed  trying  to 
agree  on  a  division.  They  were  surprised 
by  Holmes'  appearance,  though  not  dis 
concerted,  for  he  was  in  most  of  their  se 
crets.  Hooker,  who  will  be  heard  of  again, 
was  a  natty,  well-dressed  young  fellow 
from  Pennsylvania,  who  had  been  visiting 
for  some  time  at  Esmonds,  apparently 


42  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

looking  for  some  such  job  as  this  He  was 
an  underground  agent  who  assisted  them  in 
running  off  and  marketing  stolen  horses 
and  other  property. 

A  day  or  two  after  this,  the  elder  Holmes 
went  with  the  old  ferryman  to  a  neighbor 
ing  field  on  the  Lot  Dyson  place  to  haul  a 
load  of  fodder,  and  in  tearing  down  a 
"shock"  they  uncovered  a  bolt  of  cassi- 
mere,  which,  on  being  taken  to  the  mer 
chant,  was  recognized  as  part  of  his 
stolen  property.  The  goods  had  been  con 
cealed  temporarily  in  the  cornfield,  and  this 
bolt  had  been  overlooked  when  the  spoil 
had  been  gathered  in  for  a  dividend. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  prosecute  the 
robbers  or  recover  the  goods,  though  evi 
dence  and  opinion  in  the  village  pointed 
to  them  directly.  They  were  formidable, 
and  neither  the  old  merchant  nor  anybody 
for  him  felt  like  making  the  move. 
Justice  was  timid,  and  the  bandits  bold  and 
prosperous.  A  bolt  of  the  stolen  cassimerc 
was  dyed  in  the  Esmond  household,  and 
the  chief  wore  a  pair  of  pantaloons  of  the 
stuff  wrongside-out. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  43 

.  « 

For  some  years  the  most  profitable  ad 
ventures  of  this  band  were  the  running  off 
of  horses  to  Pennsylvania.  They  had  a 
chain  of  confederates  who  received  the 
horses,  put  them  in  concealment,  passing 
them  from  one  to  another  at  night,  till 
they  reached  a  safe  market.  Horses  fifteen 
to  twenty  miles  away  would  disappear  some 
night  as  mysteriously  as  if  swallowed  up 
by  the  earth.  The  trips  were  planned  so 
that  the  robbers  would  reach  their  hiding- 
place  before  daylight.  One  of  their  ex 
ploits  that  made  a  good  deal  of  local  ex 
citement  was  the  running  off  of  some  fine 
horses  from  the  farm  of  Robert  Mason,  a 
pioneer  on  upper  Bingamon ;  another  was 
the  robbery  of  "old  Josie"  Boyer,  on  Ten- 
mile.  But  nothing  ever  came  of  the  agita 
tion  in  either  case.  Public  opinion  pointed 
to  the  perpetrators,  but  their  tracks  were 
so  well  covered  no  tangible  proofs  could 
be  produced. 

The  habits  and  disposition  of  the  country 
people  made  the  trade  of  these  night  riders 
easy  and  safe.  They  went  to  bed  at  dark 
and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  Seven,  and  if  their 


44  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

dogs  barked  at  night  at  passing  horsemen, 
they  gave  themselves  no  concern,  so  long 
as  their  own  premises  were  not  invaded  or 
their  property  taken.  Men  could  ride 
through  the  country  roads  at  night  any 
where  on  any  kind  of  business  with  impu 
nity.  The  people  living  along  the  road  were 
far  more  afraid  than  they. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  45 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ALCHEMY  OF  FIRE. 

Fire,   faithful   servant  of  the  devil. 

— Anon. 

But  sure  I  think  that  I  can  drink 
With  him  that  wears  a  hood. 

— Bishop   Still. 

One  of  the  connections  these  bandits 
had  at  a  distance  was  a  burly  fellow  named 
Abe  Keifer.  He  operated  about  Clarks 
burg  and  Buckhannon  and  in  the  country 
between.  Harry  Esmond  seemed  to  keep 
in  close  touch  with  him,  and  they  had  fre 
quent  meetings  to  which  the  public  were 
not  invited. 

During  the  period  when  George  Holmes 
was  most  completely  subservient  to  Es 
mond,  he  and  Harry  met  one  night  at  the 
Blue  Boar.  Esmond  took  him  out  on  the 
back  porch,  and,  looking  cautiously  about 
to  be  sure  no  one  was  within  ear 
shot,  said: 


46  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

"I've  got  a  job  I  want  you  to  help  me 
with,  and  I  don't  want  the  rest  to  know  any 
thing  about  it." 

"I'm  your  man,"  said  George.  "You'll- 
divvy,  of  course?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Harry,  "and  I'll  make  it 
worth  your  while.  I  fixed  it  up  with  Abe 
Keifer  when  I  saw  him  at  Elias  Tarbert's 
three  weeks  ago.  You  know  Abe  has  a 
saloon  out  on  the  Northwestern  road  west 
of  Clarksburg.  He  had  it  built  last  win 
ter,  and  has  it  insured  for  double  what  it 
cost  him.  His  goods  are  well  insured,  and 
these  he  will  sneak  out  so  as  to  get  the  in 
surance  money  on  them  and  have  the  goods 
besides.  Well,  the  place  isn't  paying,  and 
he  has  agreed  that  if  I  will  tip  a  match  he 
will  divide  the  profit.  I  am  to  have  $400 
in  gold,  and  if  you  go  with  me  you  shall 
have  half  of  it." 

"Won't  I,  though!"  said  George,  enthu 
siastically.  "When  are  we  to  do  it?" 

"I  just  got  a  letter  from  Abe  this  even 
ing.  He  gave  me  a  key  when  I  saw  him, 
and  now  he  writes  me  appointing  the 
night  it  is  to  be  done,  and  telling  me  all 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  47 

about  it.  The  letter  has  lain  in  the  office 
here  several  days,  and  the  time  fixed  is  to 
morrow  night." 

"To-morrow  night  will  suit  me,"  quoth 
George.  "I'll  ride  the  black  mare." 

"And  I  will  get  Byers'  black  horse," 
said  Esmond.  "He'll  let  me  have  it  when  I 
tell  him  what's  afoot.  I  don't  want  to  take 
a  horse  from  home,  because  the  other  boys 
will  want  to  know  where  I  am  going 
This  dish  is  'personal,'  and  I  don't  want 
any  of  the  rest  dipping  in.  They  will  think 
I  am  at  Byers'  with  'Tot'  when  we  will  be 
on  the  road  that  has  a  pot  of  gold  at  the 
other  end." 

"I'll  go  to  bed  early,"  said  George,  in 
his  enthusiasm,  "and  when  the  rest  are 
asleep  I  will  slip  out  and  jump  on  Lize  and 
come  around  to  Byers'  for  you." 

"I  will  be  all  ready,"  said  Harry. 
"Mum's  the  word." 

They  separated,  and  Esmond  went  to  the 
bar-room,  where  he  found  Lot  and  Ray 
standing  at  the  bar  as  if  they  had  just  taken 
a  drink. 


48  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"Have  something,  boys,  at  my  expense," 
said  Harry,  who  felt  a  little  more  than  or 
dinarily  generous  on  the  strength  of  that 
potential  $400.  "Set  her  out,  Jone." 

Blue  placed  the  whisky  on  the  counter, 
and  the  invited  poured  out  glasses,  Ray 
three  fingers,  while  Lot  filled  his  to  the 
brim. 

Lot  noticed  the  landlord  watch  him  pour 
out  the  liquor  as  if  he  begrudged  so  big  a 
drink.  "I  don't  drink  no  sample,"  Lot  re 
marked.  "When  I  drink,  I  want  to  taste 
it." 

"That's  right,  Lot,"  commented  Harry. 
"There  is  nothing  small  about  you." 

"I  was  born  thirsty,"  growled  Lot,  "and 
I've  never  been  able  to  get  over  it." 

The  landlord,  not  much  pleased  with  the 
size  of  the  drinks  nor  with  Harry's  encour 
agement  of  such  lavishness  at  his  expense, 
interrupted  the  conversation: 

"I  hear  Jim  Monroe  says  he'll  be  d d 

if  he  don't  make  me  pay  for  that  horse. 
Has  he  been  sent  off  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  lower 
tone. 

"He  is  under  ground  all  right,"  said  Lot. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF   THE   ELM.  49 

Esmond,  instead  of  liquor,  had  poured 
out  a  glass  of  water,  and  was  sipping  it  at 
intervals.  Lot  observed  it,  and  turned  on 
him:  "Why  don't  you  drink  something? 
Water  and  milk  are  for  children." 

"Jone,"  said  Harry,  turning  to  the  land 
lord,  "give  Lot  the  bottle  and  let-  him  drink 
a  glass  for  me.  I  don't  want  anything  to 
night.  I'm  going  where  there's  ladies, 
Lot,  and  don't  want  it  on  my  breath," 
continued  Harry,  smiling. 

Lot  poured  another  brimming  glass,  to 
the  manifest  discomfort  of  the  man  behind 
the  bar.  "Here's  to  the  ladies  and  to  the 
chief  who  breaks  their  hearts,"  he  said, 
with  a  grim  sort  of  politeness  and  humor, 
and  then  he  drank  off  the  liquor. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Harry,  as  he  handed 
the  barkeeper  a  dollar.  "Never  mind  the 
change,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice  that  cleared 
the  landlord's  face  of  the  temporary  cloud. 
He  in  his  cheerfulness  remarked: 

"They  say  Billy  Richardson  is  raising 
the  whole  country  about  his  gray  stallion." 

"Billy  Richardson  be  d d,"  put  in 

Ray.  "When  he  sees  the  gray  stallion 


50  THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

again  he'll  be  older  and  wiser  than  he  is 
now." 

"What  has  been  done  with  him?"  asked 
Esmond,  looking  around  cautiously  to  be 
sure  no  outsider  had  come  in. 

"Underground  with  the  other,"  said  Lot 
significantly. 

"When  is  Johnny  coming  after  them?" 
resumed  Harry. 

"He  is  to  be  here  to-morrow  night," 
said  Ray.  "That  stallion  will  bring  $1,000, 
if  he  will  a  dollar,  and  Johnny  will  have 
the  money  inside  a  month." 

"What  am  I  to  do  if  Jim  Monroe  sues 
me?"  came  back  the  landlord. 

"Oh,  he  can't  make  anything  out  of  it," 
replied  Harry.  "A  landlord  can't  be  made 
responsible  for  horses  put  in  his  stable  by 
other  people  without  his  knowledge. 
Walker  put  up  that  horse  without  asking 
your  leave.  How  should  you  know  who 
took  him  out,  or  even  that  he  was  there?" 


The  next  night,  George  spent  the  even 
ing  at  home  and  went  to  bed  with  the  rest 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  51 

of  the  family,  somewhat  to  their  surprise. 
When  he  thought  all  asleep,  he  rose  quietly, 
dressed  himself,  and  went  to  the  sta 
ble,  saddled  and  bridled  the  black  mare 
and  led  her  out  by  a  back  way  to  avoid 
the  possibility  of  being  overheard  by  the 
household.  A  few  minutes  later  he  drew 
up  before  the  stone  mansion,  where  Byers 
and  Harry  were  standing  by  the  front 
door.  Harry  went  back  to  the  stable  for 
the  horse  and  in  a  few  minutes  joined  him, 
and,  waving  an  adieu  to  Byers,  they  set 
off  under  the  starlight  to  tempt  fortune  or 
fate,  as  the  event  might  prove. 

They  rode  slowly  over  the  wooden 
bridge  at  the  border  of  the  village,  and  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on  gave  rein  and 
relieved  their  rising  spirits  with  a  mile 
gallop,  along  which  there  were  then  no 
houses  near  the  road.  They  had  started 
a  little  after  ten.  The  distance  was  a  dozen 
miles.  A  moderate  gait  would  take  them  to 
their  destination  before  one  o'clock,  and 
three  hours  more  would  bring  them  back. 
They  moderated  speed,  but  rode  in  silence. 
The  noise  of  the  horses'  hoofs  made  con- 


52  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

versation  unsatisfactory  in  subdued  tones, 
and  it  was  not  prudent  to  talk  loud. 

When  they  had  arrived  within  a  few 
hundred  feet  of  the  goal  of  their  enter 
prise,  Harry,  who  had  been  there  more 
than  once  and  knew  the  place,  dismounted 
and  handed  the  rein  to  George,  who  with 
drew  beneath  the  shade  of  some  trees  by 
the  roadside. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "if  anything  goes 
wrong,  don't  run  away  and  leave  me." 

"Not  much !"  was  the  reply. 

As  he  advanced  toward  the  building, 
Esmond  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  key.  It 
was  there,  safe  enough.  He  paused  a  few 
minutes,  looked  around  him,  and  listened 
intently.  The  saloon  stood  isolated. 
There  were  no  inhabited  buildings  within 
several  hundred  yards.  The  place  had 
been  admirably  selected  for  the  purpose. 
Nothing  seemed  to  be  stirring  in  the 
neighborhood.  Keifer  in  his  letter  to  Es 
mond  had  told  him  where  to  feel  for 
matches,  and  where  he  would  find  some 
bottles  of  brandy  and  some  good  cigars. 
Everything  else  in  the  saloon  of  a  portable 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  53 

character  had  been  packed  ready  to  be  run 
off  into  another  part  of  the  country,  and 
the  team  to  take  the  stuff  had  waited  a 
short  distance  away  until  the  vicinity  was 
in  bed,  and  had  then  gone  to  the  build 
ing,  loaded  the  goods,  and  departed 
scarcely  an  hour  before  the  arrival  of  the 
incendiaries.  The  details  had  been  well 
planned  and  carefully  executed. 

Esmond,  after  another  pause  of  a  few 
moments  at  the  door,  listening,  and,  peer 
ing  through  the  dark,  unlocked  it  and  en 
tered,  closing  it  softly  behind  him.  He 
reached  out  to  a  shelf  beside  the  door  where 
Keifer  Had  told  him  to  feel  for  matches, 
and  his  hand  struck  something  cold.  He 
recoiled  in  horror,  for  it  seemed  to  him  for 
an  instant  that  he  had  touched  a  corpse. 
He  held  his  breath,  almost  choked  with  the 
oppression  of  indefinite  apprehension.  No 
man,  however  courageous,  ever  entered  a 
strange  house  in  the  dark  without  an  in 
voluntary  shudder  at  the  thought  of  what 
might  be  lying  in  wait  for  him,  for  it  is 
the  unknown  that  terrifies,  and  the  un 
expected  that  shocks,  as  they  had  just  now 


54  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

shocked  and  terrified  Esmond.  Visible 
dangers  we  instantly  summon  courage  to 
meet;  but  the  invisible — there  is  no  cour 
age  equal  to  them.  Harry  stood  for  a  few 
irresolute  moments,  and  then  he  remem 
bered  that  he  had  matches  in  his  vest 
pocket,  and,  taking  out  one,  he  struck  a 
match,  and  with  the  flash  all  his  apprehen 
sions  vanished. 

He  lit  a  candle  standing  near,  and,  look 
ing  around  to  the  shelf,  found  it  was  a  bot 
tle  of  brandy  that  had  given  him  the  shock 
in  the  dark.  He  proceeded  to  take  a  leisure 
ly  survey.  Tight  shutters,  carefully 
closed,  kept  the  light  from  showing  out 
side.  He  found  the  train  that  was  to  be 
fired.  He  put  the  cigars  and  brandy  into 
portable  shape,  touched  the  candle  to  the 
tinder,  passed  out  quickly,  locking  the  door 
after  him  and  throwing  the  key  as 
far  as  he  could  fling  it  into  the  field.  He 
walked  lightly  and  swiftly  back  to  the  trees 
where  Holmes  waited  for  him  with  the 
horses. 

"It  is  all  right,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"You  take  these,"  handing  George  a  part 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  55 

of  the  packages.  He  mounted,  and  they 
wheeled  and  rode  away  in  a  sudden  panic, 
as  if  some  grim  terror  were  close  behind 
them.  At  a  turn  in  the  road  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  distant,  they  halted  and  looked 
back,  holding  their  breath  and  listening. 
All  was  still  as  death,  save  the  panting  of 
their  horses  and  the  throbbing  of  their 
own  hearts.  Evidently  there  was  no  alarm. 
They  waited  a  few  minutes,  when  they  saw 
a  light  flash  up  above  the  saloon,  and 
flames  creep  out  around  the  eaves.  Then, 
turning,  they  galloped  off  toward  home, 
and  did  not  slack  speed  till  they  had 
crossed  Limestone  and  reached  a  neigh 
borhood  where  houses  were  near  the  road. 
When  tying  up  the  cigars,  Harry  had 
put  a  handful  into  his  coat  pocket.  By 
and  by  he  remembered  having  done  so, 
and,  handing  a  share  of  them  to  Holmes, 
they  lighted  and  rode  along  smoking,  al 
ready  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  first  fruits  of 
their  enterprise.  But  it  may  be  mentioned 
here,  out  of  regard  for  the  truth  of  this 
history,  that  no  gleam  of  gold,  as  the  later 
fruits,  ever  gladdened  George's  eyes. 


56  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

They  arrived  at  the  stone  mansion  just 
as  the  first  streamers  of  the  summer  dawn 
were  displayed  in  the  eastern  sky.  Put 
ting  their  horses  in  the  stable,  they  found 
the  back  door  left  unfastened,  and  went  up 
to  bed  in  a  room  prepared  for  them  and 
slept  until  noon. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM.  57 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ACQUIRING  A   KENTUCKY  TEAM. 
There's  something  in  a  flying  horse. 

— Peter    Bell. 

It  was  just  after  harvest  time  when  Es 
mond  got  word  from  their  confederate, 
Tarbert,  that  a  pair  of  very  fine  matched 
Kentucky  horses  had  been  brought  from 
Louisville  by  Tom  Boggess,  who  inherited 
the  fine  estate  of  Ludwell  Boggess,  consist 
ing  of  broad  and  fertile  acres,  cattle,  horses, 
and  lusty  negroes.  It  was  a  good  night's 
ride  to  make  this  trip,  and  Harry,  accom 
panied  by  Johnson  and  Dyson,  set  out  one 
starlight  night  to  assert  their  claim  to  this 
valuable  team. 

Tarbert  had  described  to  them  exactly 
where  the  horses  would  be  found  and  how 
to  approach  and  get  possession  of  them. 
The  weather  being  sultry,  the  horses  were 
tied  outside  the  stable  at  night  to  rings  in 


58  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

the  side  of  the  building,  in  a  small  lot  ap 
proached  through  bars. 

Arrived  at  the  place,  Dyson  was  left  in 
charge  of  the  horses,  while  Esmond  and 
Johnson  went  to  get  the  others.  After 
reconnoitering  and  listening,  to  be  sure  the 
coast  was  clear,  they  approached  the  stable 
yard  and  found  the  horses  just  as  described. 
They  let  down  the  bars  softly  and  went  up 
to  the  animals,  which  snorted  once  or  twice 
with  alarm,  but,  being  spoken  to  soothingly 
in  a  low  voice,  allowed  themselves  to  be 
untied  and  led  out.  As  ill-luck  would  have 
it,  the  hindmost,  in  lifting  the  last  foot  over 
the  bars,  struck  one  with  a  noise  that  broke 
sharply  on  the  stillness  of  the  night. 

"Who  dar?"  a  moment  later  came  a 
voice  from  within  the  stable.  Esmond  and 
Johnson  hurried  the  horses  into  a  trot. 
The  negro,  now  fully  awake,  came  out  of 
the  stable  and  saw  the  animals  outside 
the  yard  and  just  vanishing  in  the  dark. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  at  the  moment  but 
they  had  escaped  of  their  own  accord. 
The  bars,  being  often  let  down  at  night, 
did  not  attract  his  attention.  He  started 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  59 

to  run  after  the  horses  to  drive  them  back, 
but  when  he  came  in  full  view  of  them,  he 
saw  the  men  just  mounting,  and,  running 
forward  frantically,  he  let  out  a  yell  which 
combined  all  the  elements  of  his  astonish 
ment,  his  fright,  and  his  wish  to  give  the 
alarm  to  the  house.  It  was  a  weird  and 
frightful  cry. 

At  that  instant,  Dyson,  sitting  on  his 
horse,  just  as  the  others  had  reached  their 
saddles,  raised  the  cocked  pistol  he  held  in 
his  hand  and  fired  full  at  the  negro,  not 
more  than  five  yards  distant.  That  yell  was 
his  last.  He  went  down  in  a  heap  without 
a  groan. 

The  two  with  the  led  horses  took  the 
lead,  while  Lot  fell  behind,  whip  in  hand, 
to  prevent  lagging,  and  away  the  robbers 
went  down  the  road,  the  galloping  of  the 
horses  scarcely  heard  in  the  soft  dirt  high 
way.  But  the  riders  heard,  a  few  moments 
after  they  had  started,  a  call  from  the 
house  to  "Sam!"  to  know  what  was  the 
matter. 

Johnson  knew  every  bridle-path  in  this 
neighborhood.  "Boys,"  he  said,  when  they 


60  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

had  got  a  mile  or  so  away,  "the  road  we 
are  now  on  runs  in  the  direction  of  Clarks 
burg.  The  place  we  came  into  it  is  about 
a  mile  ahead.  Three  miles  farther  on  we 
strike  another  road,  running  north,  and  I 
think  we  had  better  ride  on  towards  Clarks 
burg,  till  we  come  to  that  road,  which  will 
bring  us  back  into  ours  at  Lumberport. 
Our  pursuers  will  then  think  we  have  gone 
south,  and  while  we  turn  north  they  will 
ride  straight  on." 

This  was  accepted  as  good  advice. 
They  rode  furiously  on  the  south  bound 
road  and  saw  lights  flash  up  in  one  or  two 
farmhouses  after  they  had  passed,  making 
it  certain  the  pursuers  would  hear  the 
robbers  had  gone  south.  When  they 
reached  the  north  and  south  road  they 
turned  into  it  and  rode  at  least  two  miles 
before  they  passed  a  house  within  hearing. 
After  this  they  felt  so  confident  of  their 
safety  that  they  slowed  down  and  let  the 
horses  blow.  The  Kentuckies  were  fine 
travelers,  and  had  scarcely  turned  a  hair, 
rapid  as  the  pace  had  been. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF   THE   ELM.  61 

"Lot,"  said  Johnson,  when  they  had 
come  down  to  a  speed  that  admitted  of 
talk,  "that  was  a  daisy  shot  of  yours.  The 
fellow  went  down  like  an  ox — never  whim 
pered." 

"By  -  — ,  it  just  takes  me !"  said  Lot, 

with  unconcealed  pride.  "Teach  the  d d 

nigger  how  to  yell  at  his  betters." 

A  complete  account  of  the  Boggess  end 
of  the  story  was  furnished  by  Tarbert  on 
a  visit  to  Esmond's  not  long  after  the 
event.  Great  was  the  rage  and  excite 
ment  when  it  was  found  Tom's  famous 
bays  were  gone,  and  that  his  stable-boy 
had  been  shot.  Here  was  the  value  of  a 
negro,  not  less  than  $1,500,  added  to  the 
$1,500  Tom  had  paid  for  the  horses  in 
Louisville,  to  say  nothing  of  freight  and 
other  expenses.  But,  strange  to  relate, 
in  the  course  of  a  half-hour  the  poor  fel 
low,  who  was  supposed  to  be  dead,  showed 
signs  of  life,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more 
sat  up  and  wanted  to  know  what  was  the 
matter. 

"Matter!"  roared  Tom;  "you've  been 
killed." 


62  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

"Guess  not,  Mars  Tom.  But  did  you  get 
the  horses?" 

When  called  on  from  the  house  for  the 
cause  of  the  alarm,  the  negro  was  not  in  a 
condition  to  tell,  and  it  took  the  people  in 
the  house  some  time  to  get  their  wits  to 
gether  and  find  out  what  had  happened. 
It  took  still  longer  to  organize  pursuit.  The 
other  farm  horses  were  in  the  pasture,  and 
it  took  some  time  to  catch  and  saddle  them. 
It  was  risky  for  one  or  two  men  to  pursue 
a  gang  who  were  evidently  strong  enough 
and  well-armed  enough  to  make  pursuit 
dangerous.  Then  pistols  had  to  be  hunted 
up  and  got  in  shape,  for  people  in  that 
peaceful  neighborhood  were  not  accus 
tomed  to  keep  an  armory  ready  for  service 
under  their  pillows. 

It  was  a  couple  of  hours  before  the  pur 
suers  took  the  road,  and  they  went  straight 
towards  Clarksburg,  just  as  Johnson  had 
suggested,  while  the  bays  were  galloping 
away  towards  the  opposite  point  of  the 
compass.  The  horses  had  been  brought  by 
train  to  Clarksburg  and  there  unloaded,  had 
been  seen  by  a  good  many  people,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  63 

had  excited  their  admiration — possibly  the 
cupidity  of  some.  Naturally,  Tom  Bog- 
gess  looked  in  that  direction  for  the 
robbers.  Search  was  vigorously  prose 
cuted  in  that  quarter  and  kept  up  for  a 
long  time.  But  the  owner  never  saw  or 
heard  of  his  horses  again,  and,  like  Rachel 
weeping  for  her  children,  he  would  not  be 
comforted. 

The  robbers  reached  cover  before  day, 
and  it  may  be  added,  to  complete  the  his 
tory  of  the  adventure,  that  the  horses  went 
through  by  the  underground  route,  and 
were  sold  in  Pittsburgh  to  a  rich  railroad 
man  for  $2,000,  and  were  considered  a 
bargain.  After  the  underground  charges 
had  all  been  paid,  $1,500  remained  to  be 
divided  among  Esmond  and  his  retainers, 
the  Chief,  as  usual,  receiving  the  lion's 
share. 

It  appeared  from  Tarbert's  report  that 
when  the  blood  had  been  washed  off  the 
negro's  head,  it  was  found  that  Dyson's 
bullet  had  only  cut  the  skin  and  glanced 
off  the  skull.  It  had  knocked  the  poor 
fellow  instantly  insensible,  but  had  done 


64  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

no  serious  or  permanent  injury.  When 
Lot  Dyson  heard  this  part  of  the  report — 
that  the  negro  was  not  killed,  after  all,  by 
his  crack  shot — he  was  unutterably  dis 
gusted.  "D n  a  nigger,  anyhow!"  he 

said.    "You  can't  even  kill  one." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  65 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   WATER   HAUL. 
Oh,    my   prophetic    soul!      Mine    Uncle. 

— Shakespeare. 

The  nearest  neighbor  to  the  Esmonds, 
on  a  farm  lying  just  back  of  theirs,  was 
Joseph  Diedrich  (colloquially,  "Old  Jo" 
Diedrich),  a  man  of  Falstaffian  figure,  who 
handled  a  good  deal  of  live  stock,  particu 
larly  hogs,  and  who,  along  with  his  avoir 
dupois,  had  acquired  considerable  solid 
wealth.  He  understood  very  well  the  char 
acter  of  his  river  neighbors,  and  realized 
that  he  must  live  at  peace  with  them,  if  at 
all.  He  shut  his  eyes  to  their  offenses,  of 
which  he  knew  a  great  deal  more  than  he 
wished,  and  they,  as  if  by  a  tacit  under 
standing,  let  the  old  man  carefully  alone. 

But  even  the  longest  forbearance  has  its 
limits.  "I  don't  see,"  remarked  Johnson, 
one  Sunday,  when  four  of  the  gang  were 
under  the  big  elm,  two  sitting  on  the 


66  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

rough  bench,  whittling  its  edges,  as  usual, 
and  the  others  standing  or  walking  around 
in  the  shade,  "why  Uncle  Jo  shouldn't  di 
vide  with  us  some  of  his  superfluous 
wealth.  Do  you  know  what  he  did?  He 
rode  up  the  lane  the  other  night,  just  after 
dark,  carrying  in  his  hand,  just  tied  up 
loose  in  a  pocket  handkerchief,  $1,000  in 
gold  and  silver." 

"The  d 1!"  said  Lot.  "What  does  he 

take  us  for — angels?  I  wonder." 

"And,"  resumed  Johnson,  "it  could  have 
been  snatched  out  of  his  hand,  or  he  could 
have  been  tumbled  off  his  horse,  just  as 
easy !  Now,"  he  went  on,  "I  want  to  tell 
you  something  I  have  found  out.  It  don't 
make  any  difference  how  I  got  it.  Old 
Jo  is  going  to  Clarksburg  next  Wednesday 
to  get  money  out  of  the  bank  to  pay  Pete 
Righter  for  that  Laurel  Run  farm.  The 
first  payment  is  $3,500,  and  he  is  to  take 
it  over  to  Righter's  the  next  morning. 
Now,  why  should  we  allow  that  money  to 
pass  through  our  domain  without  paying 
duty?  I  don't  believe  in  permitting  money 
to  be  exported  from  our  jurisdiction  at  all. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.  67 

The  balance  of  trade  ought  to  be  in  our 
favor.  Instead  of  exporting  money,  we 
ought  to  confiscate  it." 

"That's  what  I  say,"  chimed  in  Lot.  "If 
we  are  going  to  let  all  the  money  be  car 
ried  out  of  the  neighborhood  by  the  bloated 
aristocracy,  what's  going  to  be  left  for 
honest  citizens  to  live  on?" 

"Boys,"  observed  Harry,  "you  two 
ought  to  be  sent  to  Congress  for  your  mas 
terly  views  on  political  economy." 

"What's  p'lit'cal  'con'my?"  asked  Lot. 

"The  science  of  trover  and  conversion," 
replied  Harry. 

"Worse  and  worse,"  groaned  Lot. 

"But,  I  tell  you,"  resumed  Esmond,  "I 
don't  like  to  lay  a  tax  on  Uncle  Jo.  He  is 
a  little  'bloated'  in  his  person,  it  is  true,  but 
he  is  not  an  aristocrat.  He  is  our  near 
neighbor,  and  we  ought  to  try  to  live  on 
good  terms  with  our  neighbors,  especially 
when  they  know  as  much  about  us  as  he 
does.  He  has  always  treated  us  white." 

"Do  you  call  it  'white,'  "  growled  Lot, 
"to  carry  money  round  in  a  hankecher, 
like  it  was  tea  or  coffee  he  had  been  buyin' 


68  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

at  the  store,  just  to  fool  honest  people,  or 
to  lead  'em  into  temptation.  I  call  it 
wrong  and  unchristian.  It's  a  violation  of 
the  Lord's  prayer." 

The  spectacle  of  such  a  creature  setting 
himself  up  as  a  guardian  of  the  Lord's 
prayer  was  too  much  for  the  gravity  of  the 
others,  and  Lot  was  laughed  out  of  coun 
tenance. 

"All  the  same,"  resumed  Johnson,  "the 
times  are  getting  pretty  hard  again,  and  it 
is  time  we  collected  another  installment 
from  somebody.  If  anybody  else  will  come 
along  to  grease  the  wheels,  why,  let  old 
Jo  go;  but  if  they  won't,  and  he  puts  him 
self  in  our  way  as  a  temptation,  it  will  not 
be  our  blame  if  our  virtue  should  be  over 
come." 

"I  don't  know  which  most  to  admire  in 
you,  Johnson — the  statesman,  the  finan 
cier,  or  the  Christian  philosopher,"  ob 
served  Harry. 

"Well,  I'm  talking  sense,  anyhow;  I'll 
leave  it  to  Lot." 

"Your  head  is  level,"  quoth  the  senten 
tious  Dyson. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  69 

"When  do  you  say  it  is,  Johnson?"  asked 
Esmond. 

"He  will  come  down  from  Clarksburg 
with  the  money  next  Wednesday  evening, 
and  if  we  don't  have  that  money  to  pay  for 
the  drinks  at  the  Blue  Boar  at  midnight 
Wednesday  night,  it  will  be  our  fault,  and 
not  the  fault  of  Providence,  which  offers 
us  the  chance.  I  don't  think  there  is  a  soul 
outside  of  the  old  man's  family  that  knows 
anything  about  this  except  me,"  persisted 
Lynn.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  let  go  such 
an  opportunity.  "Uncle  Jo  never  goes  to 
Clarksburg  but  he  has  a  good  deal  of  busi 
ness,  and  he  always  winds  up  the  day  by 
taking  a  little  more  'booze'  than  is  good  for 
him.  He  will  be  late  getting  away,  and 
he  won't  reach  home  till  long  after  dark. 
It  will  be  dark  when  he  strikes  the  Manls- 
by  bridge.  If  he  was  called  on  for  cash 
away  up  there,  neither  he  nor  anybody  else 
would  ever  lay  it  to  anyone  in  this  quar 
ter." 

"But  suppose  he  conies'  home  earlier?" 
queried  Harry. 


70  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

"Then,"  replied  Johnson,  "we  would  give 
that  up,  and  lay  for  him  next  morning  on 
the  road  to  Righter's.  You  see,"  contin 
ued  Johnson,  with  growing  enthusiasm, 
"we  could  follow  the  river  road  around 
by  Jim  Denham's  and  arrive  in  the  woods 
near  the  bridge,  the  chances  are,  without 
being  seen  by  a  soul  along  the  road." 

"But  the  old  man  might  know  us,"  sug 
gested  Harry.  "We  would  have  to  wear 
masks,  and  he  might  know  our  voices ;  or 
he  might  recognize  us  by  our  size  or  shape. 
He  would  know  Lot  by  his  shoulders. 
There  is  not  such  another  pair  in  the 
county." 

"Chances  are,"  remarked  Lot,  "he'll  be 
too  boozy  to  know  us  from  a  side  of  sole 
leather." 

"Chances  are,"  rejoined  Harry,  "he  won't 
be  boozy  at  all,  for  if  he  is  going  to  carry 
that  much  money  he'll  keep  sober  so  as  to 
take  care  of  it.  Old  Jo  is  no  fool.  Boys,  it 
is  too  risky.  If  it  was  anybody  else — any 
stranger — it  might  do." 

Esmond  left  them  and  walked  up  to  the 
house.  The  others  whittled  a  little  while 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  71 

in  silence,  turning  over  the  words  of  the 
chief. 

"I  tell  you  what,  boys,"  Johnson  began, 
"don't  you  think  we  might  do  a  little  busi 
ness  on  our  own  account?  If  we  get  the 
swag,  we'll  divide  with  Harry.  If  we 
don't — and  I  don't  see  that — we'll  say  noth 
ing  about  it,  and  pick  our  flints  for  another 
time." 

"We  ought  to  do  it,"  said  Dyson,  decid 
edly.  "I  haven't  had  any  drink  money  for 
a  week  without  asking  Harry  for  it." 

Harris  hesitated.  He  felt  undecided;  he 
did  not  like  to  act  against  the  chief's  ad 
vice. 

"The  way  to  do,"  said  Johnson,  "would 
be  for  us  to  meet  at  a  certain  hour  near  the 
bridge.  I  will  go  up  to  Sardis  to  see  Tar- 
bert,  who  ought  to  have  something  on  the 
string  for  us  by  this  time,  and  I  will  come 
around  by  Lyons'.  You  two  can  come  by 
the  river  road,  or  one  each  way,  as  you 
please." 

"I  am  agreed,"  said  Ray,  finally.  "The 
place  to  do  it  will  be  in  the  bridge,  which 


72  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

is  covered,  you  know,  and  will  be  the  dark 
est  place." 

Nothing  more  was  said  to  Esmond,  who 
supposed  the  scheme  was  abandoned.  The 
three  made  the  necessary  excuses  to  ac 
count  for  their  absence,  and  met  at  the 
concerted  hour  and  place.  They  hid  in 
the  woods  a  couple  of  hours  before  dark, 
and  one  of  them  posted  himself  where  he 
could  see  all  who  passed  along  the  road. 
Darkness  fell,  and  yet  their  stout  old  friend 
had  not  made  his  appearance. 

"I  told  you  so,"  said  Johnson,  when  they 
had  got  together  again.  "He'll  be  late  and 
boozy,  just  as  I  said." 

"And  lousy  with  gold  eagles,"  added 
Lot. 

Twice  did  horsemen  pass  down  the  road 
to  the  bridge,  but  each  time  the  figure  of 
the  rider  disappointed  the  expectation  of  the 
watchers.  The  old  man  was  excessively 
obese — literally  as  broad  as  long,  and  his 
figure  on  horseback  was  unmistakable — in 
deed,  almost  comical.  Another  horse's  hoofs 
resounded  on  the  hard  road  and  this  time 
they  saw  a  horse  on  the  way  carrying  some- 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  73 

thing  that  looked  in  the  dusk  like  an  enor 
mous  wool-sack  on  end.  They  slipped  onto 
the  bridge  and  retreated  to  the  darkness  of 
the  middle.  The  horse  as  it  advanced 
showed  signs  of  fright,  but  came  on  under 
the  urging  of  the  rider.  Suddenly  Dyson 
sprang  out,  seized  the  bridle  and  jerked  the 
animal  back  almost  on  its  haunches,  nearly 
upsetting  the  rider. 

"For  God's  sake,  gentlemen!"  cried  the 
old  man,  "don't  kill  me.  What  do  you 
want?" 

"Your  money!"  replied  a  hoarse  voice, 
like  the  snarl  of  a  wolf. 

"You're  welcome  to  all  I  have."  said  the 
victim,  "though  it  is  not  worth  taking."  He 
handed  over  his  pocketbook,  saying  he 
thought  there  was  about  four  dollars  in  it. 

"We  want  the  money  you  got  from  the 
bank." 

"From  the  bank !"  echoed  the  old  man, 
blankly. 

"Yes,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

"I  got  no  money  from  the  bank." 

"D n  you,  hand  out  that  roll  quick," 

growled  the  wolf,  more  menacingly. 


74  THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

"For  heaven's  sake,"  pleaded  the  aged 
victim,  "if  you  don't  believe  me,  search 
me." 

"Get  down,  then." 

Jo  Diedrich  descended,  not  without  dif 
ficulty,  and  the  bridge  trembled  with  the 
impact  when  he  struck  it.  He  stood  like 
a  lamb  waiting  to  be  shorn.  The  ruffians 
thrust  quick  hands  into  all  his  pockets  and 
felt  all  over  him  for  a  roll  or  coin  concealed 
under  his  clothes,  but  the  net  result  of  the 
search,  in  addition  to  the  pocketbook  they 
already  had,  was:  A  plug  of  tobacco,  a 
jack-knife,  and  a  small  bottle  of  whisky. 
The  latter  Lot  appropriated  without  re 
mark. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Diedrich,  gently 
and  politely,  "there  has  been  some  mis 
take,  but  it  is  not  my  fault.  I  was  at  the 
bank  to-day,  and  did  expect  to  bring  some 
money  home  with  me  to  pay  to  Peter 
Righter;  but  he  happened  to  be  in  Gfark's- 
burg.  We  met  at  the  hotel  and  went  to 
the  bank  together,  and  the  money  was 
passed  to  his  credit.  I  am  sorry  to  disap 
point  you." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  75 

"Then  take  your  d d  old  pocketbook 

and  go  on." 

The  highwaymen  restored  also  the  knife 
and  tobacco.*  Lot  forgot  about  the  whisky. 
They  had  scarcely  got  off  the  bridge  be 
fore  their  ears  caught  the  sound  of  ap 
proaching  horses'  feet. 

"Might  have  been  worse  if  we  had  stayed 
a  little  longer,"  remarked  Ray. 

The  poor  old  victim  felt  around  in  the 
dark  till  he  found  his  hat,  which  had  fallen 
off  when  the  horse  recoiled,  and,  leading 
the  animal  to  the  end  of  the  bridge  and  to 
a  fence  near  by,  he  managed,  with  the  van 
tage  thus  afforded,  to  remount.  At  this 
moment  the  rider  whose  approach  had 
alarmed  the  robbers  came  out  of  the  bridge 
and  asked  Mr.  Diedrich  what  was  the  mat 
ter.  He  replied  that  his  horse  had  got 
scared  in  the  bridge  and  he  had  lost  his  hat 
and  had  to  get  down  for  it. 

An  hour  later  he  drew  up  at  the  Blue 
Boar  and  asked  for  the  landlord. 

."Why,  Uncle  Jo!  is  this  you?" 

"Yes,  Blue.  Bring  me  a  big  drink  of 
whisky.  I'm  not  feeling  well." 


76  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

As  he  pulled  out  his  pocketbook  to  pay, 
the  landlord  holding  up  the  lantern  to  en 
able  him  to  see,  the  old  man  quietly  re 
marked  : 

"I  was  pretty  near  losing  the  four  dollars 
in  this  pocketbook  an  hour  ago." 

"How  was  that?" 

"I  was  held  up  by  three  robbers  in  the 
Maulsby  bridge." 

"The  dickens!"  ejaculated  Blue.  "How 
did  you  get  away  ?" 

"I  didn't  get  away.  They  got  away — 
with  me !"  The  old  man  gurgled  a  little 
laugh  at  his  joke.  The  liquor  made  him 
feel  more -cheerful.  "They  thought  I  had 
a  big  lot  of  money  that  I  was  to  pay  Pete 
Righter.  But  Righter  met  me  at  the  bank 
and  the  money  was  paid  over  there.  They 
were  so  disgusted  they  gave  me  back  my 
pocketbook,  my  knife,  and  my  tobacco, 
but  they  forgot  to  give  me  back  my  bottle 
of  whisky,  else  I  wouldn't  have  had  to  call 
you  out." 

"You  are  lucky  to  get  off  so  well.  Did 
you  know  the  robbers?" 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  77 

"Not  from  Adam.  It  must  have  been 
somebody  from  Clarksburg  who  found  out 
I  was  going  to  draw  the  money." 

But  as  he  rode  away  he  said  to  himself : 
"Just  the  same,  I  know  the  fellows  like  a 
book.  I  have  seen  them  too  often  not  to 
know  every  one  of  them  the  darkest 
night  that  ever  blowed.  But  if  they  will 
let  me  alone,  I'll  let  them  alone.  But  I 
wonder  how  they  found  out  about  the 
money  ?" 


78  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SETTLING  THE  SCORE. 

No  more  of  that,  Hal,  an'  thou  lovest  me .  . 

— Shakespeare. 

Half  an  hour  after  the  landlord's  inter 
view  with  Uncle  Jo,  Harry  Esmond  came 
into  the  Blue  Boar. 

"I've  great  news  to  tell  you,"  was  Blue's 
first  greeting. 

"Out  with  it,  then,"  returned  Harry,  with 
a  momentary  tremor,  lest  it  might  be  some 
thing  alarming — for  conscience  does  make 
cowards  of  us  all. 

"Old  Jo  Diedrich  was  robbed  at  the 
Maulsby  bridge  not  two  hours  ago." 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  Harry,  in 
blank  astonishment. 

"Yes.  He  stopped-  here  about  half  an 
hour  ago  and  called  me  out  to  give  him  a 
drink,  and  told  me  all  about  it.  He  was 
set  on  in  the  bridge  by  three  men,  who 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  79 

told  him  they  wanted  a  big  lot  of  money  he 
had  drawn  out  of  the  bank.  He  gave  them 
his  pocketbook  with  four  dollars  in  it,  and 
they  searched  him,  but  all  they  got  was  his 
knife,  tobacco,  and  a. small  bottle  of  whis 
ky.  When  they  found  he  didn't  have  the 
money  they  were  so  disgusted,  he  says,  that 
they  gave  him  back  everything  except  the 
whisky." 

This  was  a  flood  of  illumination  for  Har 
ry.  He  recalled  the  talk  Sunday  under  the 
big  elm.  Despite  his  dissent,  the  others 
had  undertaken  the  job,  and  made  a  fiasco 
of  it. 

"Jone,"  he  said,  "this  is  the  raciest  of  the 
season.  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it" — and  he 
did. 

"Do  you  think  Uncle  Jo  knew  the 
boys  ?"  he  asked  Blue. 

"He  said  he  didn't  know  them  from  Ad 
am." 

"We'll  tell  them,"  said  Harry,  "that  he 
recognized  them.  It's  safe  to  bet  they  will 
be  here  before  midnight  after  a  drink  to 
blunt  the  edge  of  their  disappointment,  and 
I  want  to  be  here  when  they  come.  We'll 


80  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

have  a  little  fun  with  them.  I'm  going 
out  calling1,  and  will  be  back.  Don't  shut 
up." 

Harry  Esmond  returned  to  the  Blue  Boar 
between  eleven  and  twelve,  and,  true 
enough,  found  the  three  worthies  lounging 
in  the  chairs  in  the  bar-room.  They  looked 
out  of  sorts,  and  were  evidently  surprised 
to  see  him.  "Lynn,"  he  said,  "what  did 
Tarbert  have  to  say  ?  Has  he  any  business 
for  us?" 

"He  didn't  know  a  thing,"  replied  John 
son,  "except  that  there  is  going  to  be  races 
at  Sardis  two  weeks  from  Saturday." 

"Where  were  you  this  afternoon?"  turn 
ing  to  Harris. 

"Oh,  I  went  over  to  Bingamon.  I  had 
a  little  business  with  an  uncle  of  mine.  He 
was  owin'  me  some  money,  and  I  thought 
he  might  be  ready  to  pay." 

"How  much  was  he  owing  you?"  asked 
Harry.  "As  much  as  $3,500?" 

"Not  so  much  as  that,"  replied  Ray,  a 
trifle  surprised.  "I  wish  somebody  did  owe 
me  that  much." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  81 

"Did  you  get  the  money?"  persisted 
Harry. 

"Not  a  d n  cent." 

"These  uncles  are  mighty  poor  pay,"  ob 
served  Harry.  "Which  one  of  your  uncles 
was  it  ?  Was  it  your  'Uncle  Jo'  ?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  Uncle  Jo,"  replied  Har 
ris,  a  little  sullenly. 

"Have  any  of  the  rest  of  you  been  to 
see  your  uncle?" — looking  around  at  the 
others,  who  did  not  even  smile  in  reply. 

"Boys,"  said  Esmond,  "we  are  on  to  you 
fellows  to-night.  Uncle  Jo  Diedrich  stopped 
here  about  half-past  nine  o'clock  and  called 
'Jone'  out  to  give  him  a  drink,  and  told  him 
all  about  it.  He  knows  every  mother's  son 
of  you,  and  is  furious." 

"Good  God!"  broke  from  the  astounded 
Harris,  while  Dyson  and  Johnson  gave 
voice  to  explosives  equally  profane  and  ex 
pressive  of  astonishment  and  dismay. 
They  sat  for  a  moment  staring  at  Esmond 
with  wide-open  eyes  and  mouth.  He  was 
enjoying  the  situation  to  the  top  of  his 
bent.  "Yes,"  he  went  on,  "old  Jo  swears 
you  scared  him  out  of  a  year's  growth, 


82  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

and  that  Dyson  swore  all  the  hair  off  his 
head." 

"Nobody  could  ever  do  that,"  interrupt 
ed  Dyson.  (Uncle  Jo  was  bald  as  a  billiard 
ball.) 

"More  than  that,"  resumed  Harry,  "he 
says  he  has  registered  an  oath  that  unless 
he  gets  that  bottle  of  whisky  back  inside  of 
twenty-four  hours  by  the  watch,  he  will 
have  every  one  of  you  in  the  jug  before 
Saturday  night." 

"Do  you  think  old  Jo  really  knew  us?" 
asked  Johnson,  turning  to  the  landlord,  who 
nodded  an  affirmative. 

"Knew  you!"  said  Harry.  "He  knew 
you  all  as  well  as  he  knows  his  own  chil 
dren.  Why  shouldn't  he?  I  told  you  he 
would. 

"You  remember  our  talk  Sunday,  Lynn," 
Esmond  resumed.  "You  said  if  you  didn't 
have  old  Jo's  money  to  pay  for  the  drinks 
at  the  Blue  Boar  at  midnight  to-night,  it 
would  be  your  fault,  and  not  the  fault  of 
Providence.  I'm  waiting  for  you  to  set 
them  up.  That's  what  I  came  in  for.  It 
lacks  five  minutes  of  midnight,  it  is  true" 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  83 

(looking  at  his  watch),  "and  I  can  wait  for 
time.  But  if  you  don't  have  the  money 
then,  we  have  got  to  have  the  drinks  any 
how,  and  you  will  have  to  settle  with  Prov 
idence,  which  shall  be  responsible  to  'jone' 
for  the  score — unless.  Lot,  there,"  he  went 
on,  turning  to  Dyson,  who  sat  in  gloomy 
silence,  "will  bring  out  that  bottle  of  Uncle 
Jo's." 

"Say,  now,  Harry,"  begged  Lot,  "don't 
be  hard  on  us.  That  bottle  is  as  dry  as — 
as  I  am." 

Harry  smiled  at  the  force  of  the  simile. 
"Then  you  had  better  have  it  filled  with 
good  whisky  and  send  it  to  Uncle  Jo  be 
fore  to-morrow  night." 

"I'll  set  up  the  drinks,  boys,  if  I  have 
credit  enough,"  put  in  Johnson;  "but  I 
don't  believe  there  is  enough  cash  among 
us  three  to  pay  for  washing  the  glasses." 

"By  the  way,  Lynn,"  said  Harry,  as  if  it 
had  just  occurred    to    him,  "perhaps  you 
would  not  mind  telling  us  now,  just  in  con 
fidence,  how  you  found  out  Uncle  Jo  was 
'  going  to  bring  that  money  home  with  him. 


84  THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

Getting  information  is  a  great  art,  especially 
in  our  trade." 

"That  is  a  family  secret,"  replied  Lynn, 
"which  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  disclose." 

"I  suppose  you  have  no  objection  to  dis 
closing  your  present  views  on  tariffs,  ex 
ports,  and  confiscation?  Did  the  old  man 
lead  you  into  temptation,  Lot,  with  that 
bottle  of  whisky  ?  That  sort  of  thing  ought 
to  be  forbidden  in  the  by-laws,  for  the  pro 
tection  of  'honest  citizens.'  Men  ought  not 
to  be  allowed  to  run  at  large  on  the  high 
ways  with  bottles  of  whisky  in  their  pock 
ets — or  was  he  carrying  it  'loose  in  his 
handkerchief?  It  is  against  public  policy 
and  the  Lord's  prayer.  It's  what  I  call  'un 
christian.'  " 

"Now,  Harry,"  said  Lot,  "don't  kick  a 
feller  when  he's  down." 

"Boys,"  said  the  chief,  loftily,  looking 
them  over  as  if  they  had  been  children,  "I 
ought  to  let  you  go  home  to-night  with 
out  a  drop.  It  would  teach  you  a  lesson 
you  need.  But  I  am  not  quite  cruel  enough 
for  that.  Set  out  the  bottle,  'Jone,'  with 
the  big  glasses.  And  I  think  we  had  better 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  85 

have  something  to  eat.  There's  nothing 
makes  a  fellow  so  hungry  as  missing  a  lit 
tle  morsel  of  about  $3,500  in  gold." 

As  the  others  filled  their  glasses  in  the 
generous  fashion  common  to  them,  Harry 
poured  out  a  glass  of  water,  and,  lifting  it 
toward  his  lips  as  they  raised  theirs,  said: 

"Lads,  I  want  to  offer  you  a  sentiment 
that  you  may  take  home  and  think  of  in 
>our  beds:  Here's  to  the  three  knights  of 
the  road  who  took  pity  on  the  sorrows  of 
a  poor  old  man  and  gave  him  back  every 
thing  except  what  he  needed  most — his 
bottle  of  whisky.  When  you  go  prospect 
ing  for  gold  again,  may  you  never  strike 
so  lean  a  'pocket'  nor  capture  so  small  a 
bottle." 

All  laughed  as  they  drank  off  their 
liquor,  and  then  Harry  bade  them  fill 
again.  They  fell  to  with  the  appetite  of 
threshing  machines,  and  when  they  finally 
started  for  home  there  was  not  a  crumb 
left  for  the  mice,  and  the  barkeeper's  bottle 
was  as  dry  as  Uncle  Jo  Diedrich's. 


86  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DECOYING   GAME. 

Bloody   instructions,   which,   being   taught, 
Return  to  plague  the  inventor. 

— Shakespeare. 

One  evening  near  the  last  of  May,  a  lit 
tle  after  sundown,  Harry  Esmond  rode  up 
to  the  Blue  Boar,  and,  throwing  the  rein 
over  the  hitching-post,  walked  through  to 
the  back  porch.  The  landlord's  wife  was  a 
few  feet  away  in  the  garden  dropping  some 
seeds  in  a  flower  bed  that  had  been  pre 
pared  by  the  hired  man  during  the  day. 
Hearing  the  step  on  the  porch,  she  looked 
up  and  came  towards  him. 

"Where  is  'Jone'?"  he  asked. 

"He  was  here  a  minute  ago,"  she  said. 
"Come  in,  and  I  will  see  if  I  can  find  him. 

"You  look  as  if  you  had  something  on 
your  mind,"  she  said,  as  they  walked  into 
the  hall.  "How  is  'Tot'?"  she  asked,  smil 
ing  mischievously. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  87 

"She  was  well  when  I  last  saw  her" — 
with  a  shade  of  embarrassment. 

"When  is  it  to  come  off?" 

"You'll  have  to  ask  her.  How  should  I 
know?" 

"Now,  Harry,  you  know  it  does  not  rest 
with  Tot.  She  worships  the  ground  you 
walk  on." 

"Why,"  he  said,  pleased  at  the  flattery, 
but  trying-  to  hide  it,  "I'm  a  little  afraid  of 
the  old  lady.  I'm  afraid  Maria  doesn't 
approve  of  me." 

"Nonsense!"  she  replied;  "you  know 
better;  Maria  is  your  best  friend." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Harry,  wishing  to  dis 
miss  the  subject,  "we'll  have  to  wait  till  I 
make  a  strike." 

At  this  moment  the  landlord  entered  the 
hall  from  the  street,  and,  seeing  Esmond 
and  his  wife  in  conversation,  came  for 
ward  smilingly,  with  an  inquiring  look  at 
Harry. 

"Jone,  I  want  to  see  you,"  the  latter  said, 
turning  with  an  apologetic  bow  to  the  wife. 

"Some  fresh  mischief  afoot!"  she  threw 
back  gayly,  as  she  walked  away. 


88  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"Come  into  the  back  room,"  said  the 
landlord,  leading  the  way  to  a  little  den 
off  to  one  side  of  the  bar-room  where  he 
was  accustomed  to  receive  friends  who  had 
matters  to  talk  over  that  were  not  for  pub 
lication. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  perceiving,  as 
his  wife  had,  that  Esmond  had  "something 
on  his  mind." 

"It's  a  peach,"  said  the  latter. 

"This  is  not  the  time  of  year  for 
peaches,"  quoth  the  other. 

"Well,  it  is  game,  then.  Game  is  al 
ways  in  season  with  us,  you  know." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Jonas,  eagerly. 

Esmond  stepped  to  the  door,  looked 
out,  to  be  sure  no  one-  was  within  hearing, 
and,  shutting  it  softly,  came  back  and  sat 
down  again. 

"I  got  word  last  night,"  he  said,  "that  a 
rich  grazier  from  Fayette  County  was 
coming  up  into  this  neighborhood  to  buy 
some  cattle.  He  wants  two  or  three  hun 
dred  yearlings  and  two-year-olds  to  graze 
on  a  big  grass  farm  he  has  on  the  slopes  of 
Laurel  Hill.  Our  friends  managed  to  get 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  89 

his  ear  and  have  filled  him  up  with  a  story 
that  he  can  find  what  he  is  looking  for  in 
this  neighborhood.  He  ought  to  be  here 
now  inside  of  a  week.  He  makes  a  trip 
of  this  kind  every  year,  and  carries  money 
with  him  in  a  belt  to  pay  for  his  purchases, 
paying  half  on  closing  a  deal,  and  the  other 
half  when  the  cattle  are  delivered  on  his 
farm.  Our  friends  think  he  ought  to  have 
$3,000  or  $4,000  in  his  belt." 

"He  won't  have  that  much  when  we  get 
through  with  him,"  remarked  the  other. 
"But,  now,  what  is  your  plan?" 

"That  is  what  I  want  to  talk  with  you 
about.  He  inquired  about  hotels,  and  was 
advised  to  put  up  at  the  Blue  Boar.  He 
will  probably  arrive  in  the  evening.  You 
will  know  him,  even  if  he  should  not  tell 
his  business.  He  rides  a  very  stylish  bay 
horse  and  will  be  dressed  in  ordinary 
farmers'  jeans.  He  is  a  man  about  fifty, 
wears  gray  side  whiskers,  and  has  a  big 
nose.  As  soon  as  you  can  get  at  him  you 
can  sound  him.  He  will  probably  tell  you 
his  object,  and  you  are  then  to  tell  him 
that  you  know  just  where  he  can  find  what 


90  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

he  is  looking  for,  and  you  think  he  can 
get  a  bargain.  Send  him  to  the  big  elm. 
It  is  better  none  of  us  should  be  here  to 
go  with  him.  You  can  direct  him  how  to 
.find  the  place,  and  try  to  have  him  come 
before  he  makes  inquiries  in  any  other  part 
of  the  neighborhood.  We  will  be  on  the 
lookout  for  him,  and  if  he  comes  our  boys 
will  see  that  he  is  well  taken  care  of." 

"This  is  as  straight  as  a  string,"  said 
Blue,  with  animation.  "I  will  try  to  get 
him  away  before  anybody  else  finds  out 
his  business  or  knows  where  he  is  going. 
Then  there  will  be  no  questions  asked." 

The  conversation  had  been  carried  on 
in  very  low  tones.  After  a  brief  silence, 
Blue  asked:  "Is  George  working  for  you 
now?" 

"No — and  he  has  not  been  down  for  a 
week  or  two." 

"I  think,"  resumed  the  landlord,  "it  will 
be  better  for  him  not  to  know  anything 
about  this.  He  has  not  got  the  nerve  for 
a  job  of  this  kind,  and  I'm  afraid  he  can't 
hold  his  tongue." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  91 

"You're  right,"  rejoined  the  other.  "I'm 
afraid  George  is  weakening,  and  it  will 
not  do  to  let  him  know  too  much." 

A  light  step  approached  the  door,  and 
the  voice  of  the  landlord's  wife  was  heard : 
"Jone,  you  are  wanted  in  the  bar." 

Esmond  rose.  "I  am  going  around  to 
Byers'  for  a  while,  and  may  come  back 
after  a  little,  but  don't  sit  up  for  me.  But 
if  I  don't  come  back,  and  should  not  see 
you  before  the  belt  arrives,  send  me  word 
right  away." 

Before  he  reached  the  sidewalk,  Esmond 
had  changed  his  mind  about  the  visit  to  the 
stone  mansion.  The  bantering  of  the  land 
lord's  wife  had  awakened  some  unpleasant 
thoughts  regarding  his  relations  with  the 
blacksmith's  daughter.  Marriage  with  her 
was  something  he  had  not  thought  of.  It 
was  evident  the  village  gossip  was  connect 
ing  their  names  in  a  way  to  suggest  this, 
and  he  must  be  more  discreet.  He  un 
hitched  his  horse,  and,  mounting,  rode  to 
wards  home.  "When  I  have  made  my 
pile,"  ran  his  secret  thoughts  as  he  rode 
along,  "I  will  pull  out  from  this  neighbor- 


92  THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

hood  and  begin  life  anew  somewhere  else. 
Some  day  this  place  will  get  too  hot  for 
me." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  93 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

TRAPPED. 

He  shall  return  no  more  to  his  house,  neither 
shall  his  place  know  him  any  more. — Bible. 

It  was  two  weeks  later  when  a  stranger 
rode  into  the  village  by  the  Fairmont  road 
just  at  dusk,  and,  continuing  along  the 
street  till  he  saw  the  sign  at  the  corner, 
drew  rein  at  the  Blue  Boar  and  dismount 
ed.  A  man  was  standing  at  the  corner 
who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  connected 
with  the  house,  and  the  stranger  asked 
him  if  he  was.  It  happened  to  be  Guy  Es 
mond,  who  replied  that  he  would  call  the 
landlord,  and  asked  him  to  walk  into  the 
public  room.  In  a  few  minutes  mine  host 
entered  and  met  the  stranger  with  com 
plaisant  and  hospitable  air. 

"I  want  to  stay  over  night,"  said  the 
man. 

"Supper,  of  course?" 


94  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.     . 

"Yes;  I  have  been  riding  all  day,  and 
am  sharp  set." 

The  guest  was  shown  to  a  room,  and, 
having  refreshed  himself  with  a  basin  of 
water  and  a  clean  towel,  was  conducted 
to  the  supper  room.  The  horse  was  put 
away,  and  the  landlord  clearly  recognized 
in  both  man  and  beast  the  "game"  that 
had  been  scented  a  fortnight  before.  Al 
though  it  had  not  appeared  when  expected, 
there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  descrip 
tion. 

The  landlord  went  to  the  supper  room, 
and,  assisting  to  supply  the  wants  of  his 
guest,  sought  to  engage  him  in  conver 
sation.  For  a  time  he  was  too  busy  for 
words,  but  after  his  hunger  had  been 
somewhat  appeased,  he  was  disposed  to 
talk.  He  said  he  had  come  to  this  neigh 
borhood  to  look  for  some  young  cattle. 
He  had  been  advised  to  come  to  this 
place,  and  could  the  landlord  tell  him  where 
he  might  find  what  he  was  looking  for? 

Mine  host,  with  an  engaging  air  of  inter 
est  and  sincerity,  replied  that  within  a  few 
days  he  had  heard  of  a  fine  lot  of  yearlings 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  95 

that  were  to  be  sold  because  the  owner, 
not  being  able  to  renew  some  farm  leases 
that  had  about  expired,  would  not  have 
pasturage  for  the  cattle  this  season.  He 
thought  it  likely  they  might  be  bought  at 
a  bargain  by  anyone  who  would  take  the 
round  lot. 

The  stranger  showed  marked  interest  in 
the  information,  and,  on  learning  that  the 
cattle  were  at  a  place  no  more  than  a  mile 
distant,  said  he  would  go  there  the  first 
thing  after  breakfast,  when  he  would  ask 
the  landlord  to  direct  him.  Meanwhile, 
as  he  was  very  tired,  he  would  go  to  bed, 
and  was  directly  shown  to  his  room. 

Blue  had  dropped  a"  hint  to  Guy  not  to 
go  away  till  he  could  see  him ;  so  the  lat 
ter  lingered  about  the  door  till  the  stranger 
had  retired. 

"Come  with  me,"  said  Blue,  passing 
out  to  the  pavement  and  turning  down 
the  street  towards  the  stable.  "I  can't 
take  time  now,"  he  said,  "to  explain  to 
you  who  this  man  is,  but  it  is  somebody 
Harry  has  been  expecting,  and  I  was  to 
send  him  word  as  soon  as  the  man  ar- 


98  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A  WILD   ROSE. 

The  gods  have  made  only  two  perfect  things: 
woman  and  a  rose. — Anon. 


Loraine  Esmond  was  like  the  wild  rose 
that  lifts  the  tender  grace  of  its  beauty  in 
the  midst  of  noxious  growths,  assimilat 
ing,  through  the  divine  chemistry  of  na 
ture,  only  the  elements  required  to  nurture 
its  delicate  loveliness  from  the  same  soil 
that  supplies  the  grosser  essences  to  the 
rank  ragwort  and  the  pestilent  thistle. 

She  had  been  born  into  an  environment 
of  grossness  and  criminality,  but  the  stain 
of  her  surroundings  had  never  touched 
her.  From  the  time  she  came  to  have  her 
first  perception  of  associations  and  sur 
roundings,  she  had  been  repulsed  and  dis 
tressed  by  them.  Her  mother  had  never 
had  any  patience  with  the  scruples,  the 
questionings,  the  "pride" — as  she  chose  to 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  99 

consider  it — which  set  the  girl  apart  from 
the  rest  as  belonging  to  a  different  sphere. 
The  father  and  brothers  had  been  fond 
of  her  and  petted  her  when  she  was  a 
child,  but  never  for  a  moment  had  they 
entered  into  her  deeper  life  nor  sympa 
thized  in  any  degree  with  her  finer  nature, 
which  they  were  incapable  of  comprehend 
ing;  nor  had  they  ever  caught  the  faint 
est  glimpse  of  the  point  of  view  from  which 
she  regarded  their  actions  and  motives,  to 
which  they  gave  themselves  unreservedly, 
without  question  or  doubt. 

She  was  a  stray  in  that  flock — a  rein 
carnation,  by  a  freak  of  heredity,  of  some 
finer  and  statelier  soul  that  had  dignified 
the  family  tree  before  the  devil  came  into 
later  possession.  Her  clearer  eye  saw,  in 
its  true  colors  and  with  profound  horror, 
the  moral  obliquity  of  those  bound  to  her 
by  the  closest  ties  of  nature,  and  never 
since  she  had  arrived  at  the  age  of  this 
perception,  had  she  been  without  an  op 
pressive  sense  of  impending  evil  and  dan 
ger. 


100          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

Her  eldest  sister,  while  kind  and  affec 
tionate  with  her,  had  never  been  able  to 
enter  into  her  feelings  or  to  see  the  things 
she  saw  so  clearly.  She  lacked  the  younger 
girl's  delicacy  of  soul,  her  intuitive  recog 
nition  of  the  line  between  right  and  wrong, 
grossness  and  refinement,  and  considered 
her  foolish  and  impracticable.  She  herself 
would  have  been  glad  if  their  life  had  been 
different,  for  there  was  much  that  grated 
upon  her  womanly  nature;  glad  if  the 
male  members  of  the  household  had  been 
more  tractable  and  more  conformable  to 
the  usages  of  the  society  around  them, 
plain  and  simple  as  it  was.  But  she  was 
not  shocked  nor  distressed  by  their  con 
duct,  and  did  not  feel  that  she  had  any 
right  to  question  what  they  did. 

Loraine  had  not  lacked  for  suitors. 
Many  of  the  young  fellows  who  came  about 
the  place  had  sought  her  smiles ;  but  she 
was  separated  from  them  by  an  infinite 
space  which  they  had  no  conception  of  nor 
she  any  power  to  cross.  George  Holmes 
had  touched  her  compassion  because  she 
perceived  that  while  weak  he  was  not  de- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  101 

praved;  that  there  was  a  core  of  virtue  in 
the  boy  that  needed  only  good  influences 
and  exemption  from  evil  to  shape  his  life 
into  a  worthy  manhood ;  and  this  compas 
sion,  through  the  necessity  of  her  nature  to 
find  something  to  love,  had  ripened  into  af 
fection.  She  was  so  much  his  superior  in 
strength,  as  in  fineness  of  soul,  that  her 
love  had  in  it  an  unconscious  maternity  of 
anxiety  for  his  reformation  and  welfare. 
By  every  means  in  her  power  she  had 
sought  to  fortify  him  against  the  influences 
that  surrounded  her  and  which  he  could 
not  visit  her  without  encountering.  Had 
he  been  strong  enough  to  go  away  from 
the  neighborhood  and  begin  a  new  course 
of  life  elsewhere,  to  stay  away  till  he  was 
thoroughly  weaned  from  these  evil  influ 
ences,  till  he  had  made  a  beginning  in  the 
world  and  developed  self-reliance  and  char 
acter — as  she  had  over  and  over  again  ad 
vised — she  could  see,  and  had  tried  to  get 
him  to  see,  that  there  might  be  a  future  for 
them;  for  then  not  interposing  seas  or 
mountains,  time  or  space,  could  have  kept 
her  from  sharing  his  life.  But  he  was  like 


102  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

the  silly  moth  that  worships  the  flame.  He 
could  not  keep  away  from  her,  much  less 
go  away  where  he  could  not  see  her.  The 
thought  of  such  an  even  temporary  separa 
tion  was  insupportable.  Nor  could  he  visit 
the  Esmond  home  without  wishing  to  be 
on  good  terms  with  the  rough  brothers 
who  dominated  it. 

The  girl's  influence,  drawing  her  lover 
away  from  that  of  her  brothers  and  their 
lawless  associates,  made  him  reluctant  and 
lukewarm  about  seconding  them  in  their 
adventures.  They  were  quick  to  perceive 
this  feeling  and  attributed  it  to  any  reason 
but  the  right  one.  They  began  to  distrust 
him;  and  when  some  things  that  he  in  his 
penitent  hours  had  confided  to  his  father, 
who  in  turn  had  confided  them  to  a  rela 
tive,  began  to  leak  and  come  to  the  ears  of 
the  band,  they  taxed  George  openly  with 
treachery.  He  denied  it  indignantly  and 
tried  to  restore  himself  to  their  confidence 
by  redoubled  zeal  in  their  plans  and  enter 
prises.  But  confidence  is  a  tender  plant, 
and  one  breath  of  distrust  is  fatal  to  it.  He 
himself  felt  the  chill  of  this  breath  when- 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          103 

ever  he  visited  the  Esmond  home;  and  as 
he  kept  nothing  from  Loraine  that  was  of 
mutual  concern,  she,  too,  shared  his  appre 
hensions  and  suffered  far  more  keenly  from 
the  growing  perils  than  he.  For  his  part, 
so  long  as  he  could  bask  in  the  light  of  her 
eyes,  nothing  could  give  him  much  real 
anxiety.  Nothing  like  honor,  manhood, 
ambition,  weighed  in  the  scale — such  was 
his  infatuation — poor,  weak,  happy,  tempo 
rizing  fool! 


104          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   DIVIDEND. 

He  will  give  the  devil   his  due. 

— Shakespeare. 

It  was  a  week  after  the  cattle-buyer  had 
been  at  the  Blue  Boar  before  Harry  Es 
mond  visited  the  village.  Guy  had  been  at 
the  tavern  two  or  three  times;  but  in  an 
swer  to  the  landlord's  hints  of  inquiry,  he 
had  maintained  a  discreet  silence,  only  say 
ing  matters  were  "all  right"  and  that  Harry 
was  coming  up  in  a  day  or  two.  Harry 
walked  over  and,  true  to  his  owlish  in 
stincts,  came  into  the  village  after  dark. 

He  was  playing  a  deep  game  with  his 
friend  of  the  Blue  Boar.  The  booty  had 
exceeded  their  expectations.  A  large  part 
of  the  money  was  in  gold,  which  could  be 
used  anywhere  without  risk.  The  rest  was 
in  notes  of  two  Wheeling  banks — the 
Northwestern  Virginia  and  the  Merchants' 
and  Manufacturers'.  It  will  be  remembered 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  105 

that  at  this  period  the  currency  was  made 
up  of  local  or  state  banks,  and  money  that 
was  current  in  one  place  might  be  uncur- 
rent  or  subject  to  a  heavy  discount  in  an 
other  a  few  hundred  miles  away.  It  was 
necessary  for  a  business  man  who  expected 
to  use  money  to  procure  notes  that  would 
be  current  where  he  would  need  to  use 
them.  The  Esmonds  had  agreed  among 
themselves  that  they  would  not  give  up  any 
more  of  this  booty  than  absolutely  neces 
sary  to  secure  their  safety.  The  connec 
tions  in  Pennsylvania  would  have  to  have 
a  good  share,  for  safety  and  future  busi 
ness  depended  on  satisfying  them;  but  the 
publican  of  the  Blue  Boar  must  not  expect 
too  much  for  his  subordinate  part  as  decoy. 
He  had  done  nothing  but  send  the  man  to 
his  death.  They  who  did  the  work  were 
entitled  to  the  lion's  share.  Thus  argued 
the  chief,  who  held  the  strings  of  the  bag. 
He  entered  the  Blue  Boar  by  the  side 
door  and,  walking  back  on  the  porch, 
looked  in  at  the  rear  door  of  the  bar-room. 
The  landlord  behind  the  bar  saw  him, 
though  none  of  the  loungers  did,  and  ex- 


106          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

cusing  himself  to  them  for  a  few  minutes 
locked  the  bar  and  came  out  to  the  back 
room  where  Harry  was  waiting  for  him. 
He  closed  the  do.or,  struck  a  match  and  lit 
a  candle. 

"Well  ?"  he  said,  turning  to  Esmond  with 
an  interrogation  point  in  the  word  and  in 
his  face. 

"Well,"  replied  the  latter,  "it  is  all  right, 
but  it  was  not  as  big  game  as  we  thought  it 
would  be.  The  old  fellow  didn't  have  any 
belt,  and  he  had  only*about  $1,200  on  him. 
A  part  of  this  was  in  gold,  which  he  carried 
in  an  inside  pocket  of  his  underclothes." 

Blue  sat  for  a  full  half  minute  without  a 
word,  disappointment  in  every  line  of  his 
saturnine  face.  "Is  that  so?"  he  said,  at 
last,  in  unaffected  'disgust.  He  saw  his 
share  of  the  spoil  dwindling  to  small  pro 
portions  and  realized  that  he  would  have 
to  modify  some  plans  he  had  been  con 
structing  in  the  air  during  the  past  few 
days. 

"Johnny  and  the  others  down  below," 
resumed  Esmond,  "claim  half;  and  when 
they  find  out  how  little  that  is,  they  will  be 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          107 

awfully  disappointed  and  hard  to  satisfy. 
And  we  have  got  to  satisfy  them  somehow, 
as  you  know." 

"Honor  bright,"  said  Blue,  "is  that  the 
way  it  pans  out  ?" 

"Honor  bright,"  returned  the  other, 
without  the  quiver  of  a  nerve.  "You  know 
I  wouldn't  go  back  on  you  in  a  matter  of 
this  kind." 

The  landlord  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  as 
if  with  the  expulsion  of  his  breath  he  was 
getting  rid  of  his  chagrin. 

"I  have  brought  you  a  hundred  dollars 
of  the  gold,"  said  Esmond.  "I  thought  you 
would  rather  have  that  than  the  notes.  It 
is  safer  to  handle,  for  notes  might  be 
marked.  After  we  have  settled  with  the 
people  down  below,  if  we  can  make  a  good 
settlement  may  be  I  can  squeeze  you  out 
fifty  dollars  more,  but  don't  count  on  it." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
small  packet.  "There's  ten  gold  eagles.  I 
wish  it  was  a  thousand." 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  the  greedy  Jonas  as 
he  undid  the  paper  and  caught  the  yellow 
gleam  of  the  money.  His  eyes  were  not 


108  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

above  sparkling  for  such  an  insignificant 
sum  as  even  ten  eagles,  and  he  bestowed 
them  safely  in  his  pocket.  "A'  hundred 
dollars,"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause,  "is  not 
to  be  despised,  but  it  is  not  enough  for  the 
risk." 

"That  is  one  of  the  risks  we  have  to 
take,"  remarked  Harry.  "We  may  get 
something;  we  may  get  nothing.  But 
whichever  it  is,  we  have  to  put  up  with  it. 
Better  luck  next  time.  It  was  neatly  done, 
and  I  don't  think  there  will  ever  be  any 
trouble." 

The  landlord  would  have  liked  to  know 
the  particulars  of  the  job ;  but  somehow 
both  felt  it  an  unpleasant  thing  to  talk 
about.  "What  about  the  horse?"  he  asked. 

"We  don't  dare  run  him  down  the  river. 
He  might  be  recognized  and  traced.  He  is 
'in  under  ground  now,  and  to-morrow  night 
Lot  or  Ray  will  take  him  up  to  Tarbert, 
who  will  send  him  on  to  Abe.  He  can  be 
marketed  in  that  quarter  without  risk." 


THE  .DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  109 


CHAPTER  XI. 

GATHERING   CLOUDS. 
Be  thou  faithful  unto  death. — Bible. 

The  Sunday  after  the  cattle-buyer  had 
been  at  the  Blue  Boar,  young  Holmes 
went  down  to  Esmond's.  He  planned  his 
visit  for  an  hour  when  he  knew  Loraine 
would  be  freed  from  household  duties,  and 
he  asked  her  to  walk  with  him  to  the  river. 
The  path  beside  the  river  road  was  the  fa 
vorite  ramble.  It  was  shaded,  secluded, 
beautiful  in  its  wealth  of  leafage  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  glistening  river.  They 
walked  down  the  river,  in  preference  to  up, 
for  a  reason  neither  could  have  put  into 
words,  because  a  few  hundred  feet  brought 
them  to  the  limit  of  the  Esmond  farm ;  and 
when  they  had  passed  that  they  always 
seemed  to  be  treading  a  freer  and  happier 
soil.  The  place  had  grown  for  each  a 
grievous  presence  that  they  were  glad,  even 
for  an  hour,  to  be  free  from. 


110  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

At  the  end  of  a  half  mile  they  came  to  a 
great  sycamore  whose  curving  roots  of 
fered  them  seats,  and  here  they  sat  down 
to  enjoy  the  peaceful  seclusion.  They  had 
talked  of  ordinary  matters  on  the  way,  and 
now  they  sat  a  little  while  in  silence.  George 
spoke  first:  "Father  mentioned  at  the 
house  that  he  saw  a  stranger  coming  down 
this  way  early  the  other  morning  and  he 
wondered  if  it  was  somebody  going  to  your 
house.  Father  had  been  to  mill  before 
breakfast  and  saw  the  man  get  off  the 
ferryboat  and  turn  down  this  way.  He  no 
ticed  the  stranger  was  riding  a  very  hand 
some  horse." 

Loraine's  face  paled  as  if  with  a  painful 
emotion.  She  hesitated  and  her  lover  no 
ticed  the  internal  struggle  and  looked  at 
her  inquiringly. 

"Yes,  George,  there  was  a  stranger  at 
our  house  early  Friday  morning.  He  came 
to  buy  cattle.  He  said  he  had  been  told 
by  the  landlord  at  the  Blue  Boar  tavern 
that  we  had  a  fine  herd  of  yearlings  and 
would  sell  them  because,  having  given  up 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          Ill 

some  farms  we  had  under  lease,  we  would 
not  have  pasture  for  them." 

George  looked  his  surprise.  She  re 
sumed  : 

"You  know  we  have  no  cattle  to  sell : 
but  Ray  and  Guy  told  him  they  would  go 
with  him  up  to  the  hill  farm  past  Lot's  and 
show  him  the  cattle." 

Speech  failed  the  girl,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  she  would  choke  in  an  agony  of  feeling. 
But  presently  having  mastered  the  emotion, 
she  went  on : 

"The  -stranger  did  not  come  back  with 
them;  and  I  suppose  he  went  back  by  the 
shorter  road  down  the  hill." 

George  sat  like  one  in  a  daze.  At  length 
he  said: 

"I  don't  think  he  came  back  to  town.  I 
was  about  the  village  during  the  day  and 
was  at  the  Blue  Boar  awhile  in  the  fore 
noon,  and  did  not  see  him  nor  hear  Jonas 
say  anything  about  a  stranger  looking  for 
cattle.  He  may  have  gone  up  the  river  on 
this  side." 


112  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

Neither  could  bear  to  give  expression, 
even  to  the  other,  to  their  mutual  percep 
tion  of  the  terrible  truth. 

The  girl  arose  and  walked  away  some 
distance  and  leaned  with  averted  face, 
against  a  tree.  When  she  came  back  after 
some  minutes,  there  were  traces  of  tears 
and  she  showed  profound  distress,  though 
striving  to  be  calm. 

One  thought  painful  to  Holmes,  who  did 
not  doubt  the  man  had  been  robbed  and 
murdered,  was  that  he  had  not  been  al 
lowed  to  know  anything  about  the  plot. 
Evidently  the  landlord  of  the  Blue  Boar 
had  played  the  decoy;  and  though  he  had 
been  with  Blue  repeatedly  'the  past  week, 
on  seemingly  the  friendliest  terms  of  con 
fidence,  not  a  hint  of  this  had  been 
breathed  to  him.  It  showed  him  that  he 
was  excluded  from  the  confidence  of  Harry 
and  his  associates ;  and  that  meant  that 
since  they  no  longer  trusted  him  they 
would  take  measures  to  secure  themselves 
against  the  possibility  of  his  betraying 
what  he  already  knew.  Thus  dangers  were 
thickening  around  him,  threatening  his  life 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          113 

or  at  least  a  separation  from  Loraine.  He 
might  go  away  and  escape  their  vengeance; 
but  what  would  life  be  worth  to  him  away 
from  her? 

Their  thoughts  were  mutually  too  pain 
ful  for  expression.  They  sat  awhile  with 
out  speaking  and  then  arose  and  walked 
farther  down  the  road  to  find  what  relief 
they  could  in  movement. 

"You  told  me  not  long  ago,"  she  said,  at 
length,  "that  your  Uncle  Andy  had  offered 
to  join  you  in  leasing  the  Smith  farm  on 
Simpson's  Creek,  and  let  you  work  it  for 
what  you  could  make  out  of  it.  Have  you 
done  anything  about  it  yet?" 

"No,  Loraine,  not  yet.  The  owner  wants 
more  rent  than  we  ought  to  pay.  Besides, 
I  don't  know  where  I  am  to  raise  money  to 
get  the  plows  and  wagons  and  other  farm 
tools  I  would  need.  Father  would  let  me 
have  one  of  the  horses  and  Uncle  Andy  an 
other.  Maybe  we  can  see  some  way  to 
fix  it  up  between  now  and  time  for  fall 
seeding." 


114  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

"You  will  have  to  go  away,"  she  said ; 
"I  see  that  clearly.  It  is  getting  too  dan 
gerous  for  you  to  stay  here." 

Her  keen  vision  had  pierced  the  gather 
ing  clouds  and  divined  even  quicker  than 
his  instinct  the  peril  that  threatened  him. 

"I  will  have  to  go  away  or  die,  Loraine, 
I  know  that;  but  I  would  rather  die  than 
leave  you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  humid  eyes  that 
spoke  unutterable  love  and  her  bosom 
heaved  with  the  emotion  inspired  by  the 
declaration  of  his  passion ;  but  she  said : 

"George,  that  is  not  a  manly  way  to 
talk.  If  you  die  you  leave  me,  and  I  lose 
you  forever.  You  do  not  need  to  die ;  you 
do  not  need  to  leave  me  except  for  a  time. 
Go  away  and  try  to  make  a  home  that  I 
can  share  with  you,  where  we  may  begin 
life  anew ;  no  matter  where  or  how  poor  it 
may  be,  if  it  is  your  own,  though  it  be  only 
a  cabin  and  a  patch ;  and  when  you  have 
done  this  I  will  come  to  you  and  no  power 
on  earth  shall  hold  me  from  you.  I  can 
wait  and  so  must  you.  You  know  I  will  be 
true  to  you,"  she  added;  "only  be  true  to 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM.          115 

yourself;  and  be  the  man  that  you  will  be 
as  soon  as  you  get  away  from  here." 

She  could  not  say  more.  Tears  came 
into  her  beautiful  eyes  and  completed  the 
appeal  in  language  that  no  man  could  re 
sist. 

"You  are  right,  Loraine,  you  are  an 
angel !"  said  her  lover,  profoundly  moved, 
taking  the  girl  in  his  arms  and  kissing  her 
fondly.  "I  must  do  it ;  I  will  do  it.  There 
is  no  other  way;  and  God  helping  me, 
from  this  hour  I  will  think  of  nothing  but 
how  to  bring  this  about." 

She  dried  her  eyes  and  a  happier  light 
came  into  them ;  for  hope  gilds  the  dark 
est  hour;  and  for  the  moment  she  would 
fain  believe  that  her  lover  might  be  trans 
formed  by  the  greatness  of  her  love,  might 
become  worthy  of  her  devotion,  might  be 
stimulated  by  it  to  work  out  a  future  in 
which  she  could  have  a  part,  away  from  all 
these  hateful  surroundings  in  which  her 
soul  had  been  cribbed  and  cabined  all  her 
life. 


116          THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

NEMESIS. 

And  the  Lord  said  unto  Cain,  Where  is  Abel, 
thy  brother?  And  he  said,  I  know  not:  Am  I 
my  brother's  keeper? — Bible. 

A  month  after  the  declaration  of  the 
dividend  at  the  Blue  Boar,  a  paragraph  ap 
peared  in  a  Uniontown  paper  to  the  effect 
that  Mr.  Thomas  McKinney,  a  wealthy  citi 
zen  of  that  place,  who  had  gone  into  Vir 
ginia  some  six  weeks  before  to  buy  cattle, 
had  not  returned  nor  been  heard  from,  and 
his  family  and  friends  were  apprehensive 
some  ill  fortune  had  befallen  him.  The  ar 
ticle  described  Mr.  McKinney,  his  general 
appearance  and  dress  and  the  horse  he 
rode,  and  stated  that  he  had  when  he  left 
home  a  considerable  sum  of  money  on  his 
person.  A  week  later  the  same  paper  stated 
that  there  was  not  yet  any  word  from  the 
missing  man  and  his  family  were  seriously 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          117 

alarmed  for  his  safety  and  were  making  ef 
forts  to  trace  him. 

A  week  later  there  arrived  in  the  village 
of  Riverside,  in  the  afternoon,  by  the  Fair 
mont  pike,  a  stranger  on  horseback,  who 
was  dressed  and  comported  himself  like  a 
plain  citizen  on  a  business  trip.  He  rode 
up  to  the  Blue  Boar  and,  throwing  the  rein 
over  a  hitching-post,  walked  into  the  pub 
lic  room  and  asked  for  the  landlord.  As 
Blue  came  out  of  the  bar  and  confronted 
the  stranger,  an  unpleasant  lump  came  up 
in  his  throat,  for  he  instinctively  felt  that 
he  knew  the  man's  business  before  he  had 
told  it ;  but  he  had  himself  under  good  con 
trol  and  did  not  show  the  trepidation  he 
really  felt.  He  asked  if  the  stranger  would 
have  his  horse  put  up. 

"No,"  was  the  reply;  "at  least  not  yet. 
I  suppose,"  looking  the  landlord  in  the 
face,  "I  may  speak  to  you  somewhat  in  con 
fidence." 

The  latter  signified  assent. 

"I  am  from  Uniontown,"  said  the  stran 
ger,  "and  I  am  trying  to  get  track  of  one 
of  my  neighbors  who  came  up  this  way  on 


118          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

a  business  trip  about  the  middle  of  June. 
He  has  not  returned  within  the  time  his 
family  expected,  and  at  their  request  I  have 
come  to  see  if  I  can  find  him.  I  have 
traced  him  as  far  as  Fairmont,  where  he 
stayed  at  the  Mountain  City  House.  The 
landlord  remembers  him  quite  well,  and 
says  he  told  him  he  was  going  up  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Clarksburg.  I  found  a 
man  at  Worthlesston  who  thinks  he  saw 
him  pass  through  that  place;  but  he  was 
not  very  clear  about  it  and  when  I  pressed 
him  admitted  he  was  so  far  away  he  might 
be  mistaken  in  the  description.  Of  course, 
a  good  many  people  pass  over  that  road 
every  day,  and  unless  one's  attention  was 
specially  directed  to  a  passer,  his  recollec 
tion  that  far  back  would  be  vague  and  un 
certain.  But  I  think  if  he  came  this  far  he 
would  likely  stop  with  you  and  you  would 
recollect  him." 

The  speaker  then  proceeded  to  describe 
the  missing  man  minutely,  his  personal  ap 
pearance,  dress  and  the  horse  he  rode.  The 
landlord  listened  coolly  and  critically.  His 
confidence  had  come  back.  After  a  pause 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  119 

in  which  he  appeared  to  be  ransacking  his 
memory:  "I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  the 
man.  How  long  ago  did  you  say?" 

About  the  middle  of  June  as  near  as  I 
can  figure  it.  The  landlord  of  the  Moun 
tain  City  thought  the  same." 

"I  am  certain,"  said  Jonas,  "there  has 
been  no  such  person  here  in  the  last  three 
months,  or  this  year,  for  that  matter,  for  I 
could  not  fail  to  remember  it.  We  don't 
have  many  strangers,  and  that  is  a  man  one 
would  be  sure  to  remember." 

The  stranger  was  disappointed.  "Is 
there  another  hotel  here?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  the  Busy  Bee,  just  down  the 
street."  He  stepped  to  the  door  and  point 
ed  out  the  building. 

"I  will  leave  my  horse  hitched  here  and 
walk  down  there  and  make  inquiry." 

"He  won't  find  out  anything  there,"  said 
the  landlord  to  himself;  and  he  felt  a  sense 
of  relief  that  the  man  was  gone. 


The  landlord  of  the  Busy  Bee  had  not 
entertained  nor  heard  of  the  missing  trav- 


120          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

eler.  The  detective — for  such  he  was — was 
a  man  of  resources.  He  reflected  and  it 
occurred  to  him  McKinney  might  have 
reached  the  village  before  night,  crossed 
the  river  and  gone  up  on  the  other  side. 
"Is  there  a  ferry  here?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"What  was  the  state  of  the  river  about 
the  middle  of  June  ?" 

"A  man  could  ride  it.  There  had  been  a 
freshet  early  in  the  spring,  but  the  river 
was  down  again." 

"Where  can  I  find  the  ferryman?" 

"I  will  send  a  boy  to  show  you,"  said 
the  obliging  landlord  of  the  Busy  Bee. 

The  ferryman  was  found  in  his  shop  on 
the  bank  of  the  river  overlooking-  the  ferry. 
The  stranger  introduced  himself  and  ex 
plained  his  quest. 

"How  long  ago?"  queried  the  old  ferry 
man. 

"Somewhere  about  the  middle  of  June. 
It  should  have  been  the  I5th." 

The  old  man  ran  over  a  calculation  with 
the  aid  of  his  fingers.  "That  would  be 
Friday  morning.  Yes;  there  was  such  a 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  121 

man  rode  down  this  street  to  the  river  just 
about  that  time ;  and  I  think  by  looking  at 
a  memorandum  book  I  have  here  I  can 
tell  you  the  exact  day,  because  I  was  going 
to  Clarksburg  that  day  to  buy  some  hard 
ware  at  Lowndes',  and  I  had  got  up  early 
to  do  some  repairing  on  my  boat.  I  had 
just  got  it  finished  and  started  up  to  the 
house  when  this  man  rode  down  to  the 
edge  of  the  water.  He  rode  in  a  few  steps, 
and  while  his  horse  drank,  he  turned  and 
asked  me  if  he  could  ride  the  river.  I  told 
him  yes,  but  he  would  find  it  a  little  deep, 
and  he  might  get  his  feet  wet.  He  then 
asked  if  I  could  ferry  him.  I  said  I  could; 
so  he  rode  into  the  boat  without  getting 
off  his  horse,  and  I  went  back,  pushed  off 
and  ran  him  across.  He  handed  me  the 
pay  and  rode  up  the  bank.  I  turned  and 
came  right  back,  and  don't  remember  that 
I  looked  around  till  I  had  landed  and  tied 
the  boat.  Then  as  I  started  to  walk  up  the 
hill,  I  turned  half  round  and  glanced  across 
at  the  road  above  the  ferry  expecting  I 
would  see  him  somewhere  beyond  Font- 
rev's;  but  I  did  not  see  him,  and  as  I  had 


122 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


no  curiosity  in  the  matter  and  was  think 
ing  of  my  breakfast  and  my  trip,  I  came  on 
up  home  and  thought  no  more  of  it.  This 
was  the  man  you  describe,  I  am  certain.  I 
especially  noticed  his  stylish  horse  as  he 
stood  in  the  boat;  but  I  could  not  tell,  if  it 
was  to  save  me,  whether  he  went  up  the 
river  or  down." 

.  The  old  man  had  all  this  while  been 
fumbling  in  a  tool-chest,  and  at  last 
brought  out  a  small  account  book.  He 
loked  it  over  a  few  moments.  "Yes,  I  find 
I  went  to  Clarksburg  on  the  I5th  of  June. 
That  was  Friday,  and  that  was  the  morning 
this  traveler  came  down  and  was  ferried 
over." 

"What  hour  in  the  morning  was  this?" 

"It  was  early.  I  had  not  had  my  break 
fast  yet." 

"Where  could  he  have  come  from?" 
spoke  the  stranger,  more  to  himself  than  to 
the  other. 

Then,  turning  to  the  ferryman :  "He  did 
not  stay  at  either  of  the  hotels  in  the  vil 
lage.  Where  would  you  think  he  might 
have  stayed  over  night?" 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  123 

"Then  he  must  have  stayed  out  of  town 
somewhere  and  taken  an  early  start." 

This  appeared  to  be  a  solution.  "That 
is  it,"  the  stranger  said,  and  thanking  the 
ferryman  for  his  courtesy  he  walked  back 
to  the  Blue  Boar,  unhitched  and  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  out  of  the  village  by  the 
way  he  had  come. 

At  this  moment  Guy  Esmond  walked 
down  the  street  and  came  to  the  corner 
door  in  which  the  landlord  was  standing. 
He  saw  the  man  riding  away  and  turned  to 
his  friend  for  an  explanation.  The  latter 
looked  around  and,  seeing  no  one  near, 
spoke  cautiously:  "That  man  is  from 
Uniontown  and  is  looking  for  the  cattle- 
buyer  who  stayed  over  night  some  six 
weeks  ago  and  went  over  to  your  place  the 
next  morning.  You  slip  right  over  and  let 
Harry  know.  Maybe  he  had  better  come 
up  to-night  and  see  me,  but  not  till  after 
dark.  You  walk  down  to  the  mill  and  cross 
there." 

Less  than  a  mile  out  of  the  village  on 
the  Fairmont  road  the  stranger  stopped  at 
a  farm-house  on  the  left  which  looked  as 


124          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

if  a  man  might  have  asked  hospitality  there. 
As  he  rode  into  the  lane  he  saw  near  the 
barn  an  old  man  whom  he  judged  to  be 
the  proprietor,  giving  directions  to  a  col 
ored  man,  also  well  along  in  years.  The 
latter  walked  to  the  gate  as  the  stranger 
rode  up,  took  off  an  old  battered  hat,  put 
it  under  his  arm,  and  made  a  ceremonious 
bow.  The  stranger  politely  returned  the 
salutation  and  said  he  would  like  to  speak 
with  the  master.  The  old  man,  hearing 
this,  came  forward  and  stood  by  the  gate, 
while  the  colored  servant  stood  near  by  in 
non-participant  attitude  but  keen  of  ear  for 
the  conversation. 

The  stranger  went  over  the  explanation 
he  had  to  make  and  at  the  conclusion  asked 
if  the  missing  traveler  had  stayed  over 
night  at  that  house.  The  old  man  replied 
in  the  negative.  Nobody  had  stayed  with 
them  this  spring.  Had  he  seen  anybody 
passing  that  would  answer  the  description? 
No;  possibly  Joe  had.  Then,  turning  to 
the  colored  man: 

"Joe,  did  you  see  anybody  like  this  ride 
along,  going  towards  town,  about  the  mid- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  125 

die  of  June?  You  heard  what  he  was 
like?" 

"Yes,  sah,"  said  Joe.  "I  hear  de  gem- 
man's  'scription  and  I  think  I  seed  de 
man.  'Deed  I'ze  most  shuah  I  did,  caze  I 
meet  him  in  de  road  and  have  a  inte'view 
with  him." 

"Tell  us  about  it,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Yes,  sah,"  said  Joe,  appreciating  his  op 
portunity.  "Mars  Short  he  tell  me  to  hitch 
up  de  wagon  ana  go  to  town  after  de  plow 
which  had  de  pint  broke  and  was  at  Mistah 
Stores'  shop;  and  Mistus  Mary  she  tell  me 
be  shuah  not  fo'git  to  go  to  postoffice,  fur 
she  were  expecting  a  letter — 

"But  tell  us  about  the  man,"  said  the 
stranger,  interrupting. 

"Yes,  sah,"  said  Joe,  with  a  bow;  "I  tell 
de  gemman  in  a  minute.  I  got  de  plow  in 
de  wagon  and  had  letter  in  my  hat,  and  I 
druv  out  over  the  hill  and  I  see  a  man  rid 
ing  towards  me  just  dis  side  de  fus'  holler; 
and  when  he  come  up  to  me  I  see  he  was 
goin'  to  say  somethin'  and  I  kinder  stop  de 
team  and  he  pull  up  his  hoss,  and  he  ast  me 
how  fur  it  were  to  de  town.  I  tole  him 


126  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

soon's  he  got  out  on  de  hill  dere  he'd  see 
it.  Den  he  ast  me  if  I  know  of  any  yearlin' 
cattle  about  here  for  sale." 

"Did  he,"  interrupted  the  stranger,  "ride 
on  to  the  town?" 

"He  ride  in  that  directium,"  said  Joe, 
with  due  caution,  as  if  he  were  a  witness  on 
the  stand.  "I  couldn't  say  he  went  all  de 
way;  but  I  'spect  he  did,  caze  when  I  look 
around  just  'fore  I  got  to  de  fus'  holler  he 
were  out  of  sight."  Joe  made  another  bow 
as  if  to  terminate  the  "inte'view." 

"Do  you  think  that  was  the  man  I  have 
described?"  the  stranger  asked. 

"I'm  shuah  it  was.  He  rode  a  very  fine 
bay  critter,  and  he  had  a  big  nose  and  side 
whiskers ;  and  he  were  very  polite.  And 
his  astin'  'bout  de  cattle  makes  me  know  it 
were  de  same  gemman  you  is  lookin'  foh." 

"About  what  time  of  day  was  this?" 

"It  was  gettin'  putty  late.  Come  to  think, 
it  was  quite  late  in  the  ebenin',  caze  I  'mem 
ber  it  was  dusk  when  I  druv  in  and  un 
hitched." 

The  stranger  thanked  both  politely  and, 
mounting,  rode  away.  At  .the  mouth  of 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  127 

the  lane  he  was  undecided  a  moment  which 
was  to  turn,  then  he  rode  on  east.  A  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  farther  he  came  to  a  small 
stream,  and  here  the  roads  forked.  He  rode 
aside  under  some  spreading  sycamores  and, 
dismounting  and  putting  his  arm  through 
the  rein,  walked  to  a  foot-bridge  that 
offered  a  convenient  seat  and  sat  down  to 
think  over  the  tangled  skein. 

Here  he  had  the  very  positive  recollec 
tion  of  two  men,  neither  of  whom  could 
possibly  have  any  interest  in  deceiving  him, 
one  showing  that  McKinney  had  passed  on 
to  the  village  before  nightfall,  the  other 
that  he  had  crossed  the  river  at  an  early 
hour  in  the  morning — presumptively  the 
next  morning.  Where  did  he  spend  the 
night?  He  was  within  half  a  mile  of  the 
village  when  the  colored  man  saw  him  near 
dusk  and  left  him  going  in  that  direction ; 
and  there  were  no  houses  on  the  road  be 
tween  that  meeting-place  and  the  village. 
Why  had  he  not  stayed  at  one  of  the  hotels  ? 
He  was  a  man  accustomed  to  travel  and 
spend  his  nights  at  hotels ;  and  as  he  knew 
nobody  in  the  village,  it  did  not  seem  possi- 


128  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

ble  he  had  asked  for  private  hospitality. 
Had  he  gone  beyond  the  village  and  stayed 
at  some  farm-house  and  returned  to  the 
ferry  next  morning?  That  was  the  least 
probable  of  all.  He  must  have  stayed  at 
one  of  the  hotels.  Could  the  landlords  have 
forgotten?  Hardly,  for  the  entertainment 
of  a  stranger  who  would  probably  make  in 
quiries  of  them  about  cattle  would  be  read 
ily  recalled  where  such  a  guest  would  be 
unusual.  Could  the  landlords  have  any  mo 
tive  for  denying  his  presence?  If  he  had 
not  been  seen  afterwards  this  might  be  sus 
pected.  But  he  did  not  disappear  at  a 
hotel;  that  was  proven  by  the  positive  rec 
ollection  of  the  ferryman.  It  was  a  puzzle. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  revolving  these 
and  other  thoughts.  It  was  growing  dusk 
and  the  horse  was  getting  restless  at  the 
prospect  of  spending  the  night  without 
food.  He  mounted  and  rode  back  to  the 
village  and  to  the  Blue  Boar. 

Mine  host  was  surprised  and  puzzled  at 
the  man's  return.  He  was  shown  to  his 
room  while  supper  was  being  prepared  for 
him  and  the  horse  sent  to  the  stable.  At 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  129 

the  moment  these  dispositions  had  been 
made,  Harry  Esmond  walked  into  the  hall 
way  by  the  side  door  and  he  and  Jonas  met 
opportunely  on  the  back  porch.  They  went 
to  the  den  and  shut  the  door. 

"What  is  this,  'Jone,'  about  a  man  from 
Uniontown  looking  for  somebody?" 

The  landlord  lowered  his  voice.  "They 
are  tracing  for  him  and  have  tracked  him 
as  far  as  Fairmont.  They  found  one  man 
\vho  thinks  he  saw  him  ride  through 
Worthlesston,  but  he  is  not  dead  sure.  The 
man  came  here  this  afternoon  to  inquire, 
but  I  didn't  know  the  first  thing  in  the 
world ;  never  saw  such  a  man.  Then  he 
went  to  the  Busy  Bee,  and  of  course  he 
didn't  find  out  anything  there.  But  he  was 
gone  a  good  while  and  I've  been  wonder 
ing  whether  he  struck  a  trail  anywhere  else. 
So  he  came  back  and  mounted  and  rode 
away,  about  a  half  an  hour  by  sun,  in  the 
direction  he  had  come.  I  thought  he  had 
given  it  up  or  gone  back  to  Fairmont  to  get 
a  fresh  start;  but  he  has  just  returned  and 
is  up  stairs  getting  ready  for  supper.  I 
wish  I  knew  what  brought  him  back.  When 


130          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

he  rode  away  this  afternoon,  he  never  said 
a  word  about  what  he  had  found  out.  I 
wonder  if  he  heard  anything  from  anybody 
else,  and  where  he  went  when  he  rode  out 
the  Fairmont  pike.  When  he  comes  down 
"to  supper  I  will  seat  him  on  the  far  side  of 
the  table  and  you  can  go  around  on  the  back 
porch  and  get  a  good  look  at  him  through 
the  windows." 

The  landlord  returned  to  the  public  room. 
The  stranger  had  come  down  and  was  im 
mediately  preceded  to  the  supper  room  by 
the  landlord,  who  drew  back  a  chair  and 
seated  the  guest  facing  the  windows  on  the 
porch.  Harry  sauntered  out  on  the  porch  in 
the  dark  and,  strolling  carelessly  back. and 
forth  past  the  windows,  obtained  a  good 
view  of  the  stranger,  whose  features  and 
demeanor  he  fixed  in  his  memory  as  some 
thing  he  might  need  to  be  familiar  with. 
The  publican  bustled  about  ostensibly  to  see 
that  his  guest  was  served  to  his  satisfaction, 
really  to  give  him  a  chance  to  ask  questions 
or  tell  of  his  discoveries  if  inclined.  But 
the  guest  did  not  seem  disposed  to  talk  and 
gave  his  whole  attention  to  appeasing  his 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  131 

hunger,  nor  could  the  landlord  biing  himself 
to  venture  any  remark  to  draw  out  what  he 
so  much  wanted  to  know.  At  length,  rising 
from  the  table,  the  stranger  retired  at  once 
to  his  room. 

The  landlord  and  Esmond  met  a  few 
minutes  later  in  the  den. 

"I  don't  like  his  looks,"  said  the  latter. 

"I'm  afraid  he  has  got  some  clue.  I 
wanted  you  to  see  him,  because  you  might 
want  to  recognize  him  in  some  other  place." 

"I'd  know  the  fellow  in  the  dark,"  said 
Esmond ;  and  in  a  whisper  he  added :  "He'd 
better  keep  on  this  side  of  the  river.  I 
must  go  now  so  as  to  post  the  boys  to  be  on 
the  lookout."  And  then,  with  rising  anger, 
in  a  voice  incautiously  loud :  "He  had  best 
not  fool  around  here  too  much,  or  we  won't 
wait  for  him  to  cross  the  river." 


132  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


AN    ABANDONED    WELL. 

Something  Js  rotten  in  the  State  of  Denmark. 
Cudgel  thy  brains  no  more  about  it. 

— Hamlet. 


Some  ten  days  after  the  disappearance  of 
McKinney,  two  boys  from  the  village  who 
had  been  ranging  the  woods  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river  looking  for  squirrels  or 
other  small  game,  found  themselves  on  top 
of  the  great  hill  back  of  the  old  log  house 
occupied  by  Lot  Dyson.  Their  shortest 
way  towards  home  lay  across  the  fields  on 
the  south  slope  of  the  hill ;  and  as  they  ap 
proached  the  timber  belt  farther  down, 
which  they  proposed  to  enter  some  dis 
tance  west  of  the  house,  they  encountered 
a  thicket  covering  an  acre  or  two  so  densely 
grown  with  bushes  and  briers  that  it  looked 
as  if  they  would  have  to  walk  around ;  but 
noticing  what  looked  liked  a  path,  they  en 
tered  it,  and  after  a  few  yards  saw  on  one 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  133 

side  a  pile  of  stones  that  appeared  to  be  the 
ruins  of  a  chimney. 

"Why,"  said  one  boy,  "I  did  not  know 
there  had  ever  been  a  house  here." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  observed  the  other,  "I 
have  heard  there  was  an  old  house  in  here 
somewhere  that  was  burned  many  years 
ago." 

"And  what  is  this  ?"  said  the  other,  draw 
ing  back  from  a  pit  he  had  almost  fallen 
into. 

It  was  covered  with  dead  brush,  but 
through  this  could  be  seen  some  half-de 
cayed  pieces  of  timber  laid  across  as  if  to 
keep  cattle  from  falling  in.  Leaning  over 
and  peering  in  through  an  opening  between 
the  timbers,  the  boys  could  see  that  there 
was  an  old  stone-walled  well,  with  water 
coming  up  within  ten  to  fifteen  feet  of  the 
surface. 

"See  here,"  said  one,  "it  looks  as  if  some 
thing  had  gone  down." 

The  brush  had  been  thrust  aside  and 
twigs  had  been  broken  as  if  some  heavy 
body  had  fallen  in.  Looking  more  closely, 


134  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

it  appeared  as  if  the  timbers  had  been 
moved  and  shoved  together  again. 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other  and  then 
at  the  lonely  surroundings  with  a  queer  feel 
ing  neither  could  have  explained.  But  the 
dense  thicket  cut  off  the  view  in  all  direc 
tions,  and  there  was  nothing  alarming  in 
sight  except  the  dreadful  old  well,  which 
was  only  a  possible  danger  to  a  heedless 
rabbit  hunter  plunging  through  the  thicket. 

"Let's  get  away  from  here.  This  path 
doesn't  go  any  farther,  and  we'd  better  go 
back  and  walk  around." 

Before  the  lads  got  home,  the  unpleas 
ant  feeling  they  had  had  about  the  old  well 
evaporated  and  they  thought  little  more  of 
it  than  of  other  incidents  of  an  unsuccess 
ful  morning  in  the  woods. 

But  at  supper  one  of  them  asked  his 
father  if  he  remembered  an  old  house  in 
that  locality,  describing  it.  The  parent  re 
plied  he  had  heard  there  was  once  a  house  in 
there  somewheres  that  had  been  burned  be 
fore  the  Lot  Dyson  house  was  built.  Some 
people  with  a  name  like  Woodfield  had  lived 
in  it. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE- ELM.          135 

"Why  did  they  not  build  again  in  the 
same  place?"  queried  the  boy.  "It  would 
have  saved  them  digging  a  well." 

"That  reminds  me  of  something  else," 
said  the  father,  "that  used  to  be  said  about 
it.  They  would  not  build  again  in  the  same 
place  because  the  well  was  spoiled.  After 
those  people  went  away  and  a  new  owner 
came  to  build  he  cleared  away  the  rubbish 
and  concluded  to  clean  out  the  well.  They 
found  the  body  of  a  man  in  it  who  was 
supposed  to  have  been  murdered  and 
thrown  in.  And  that's  why,  it  is  said,  the 
next  house  was  built  in  anothei  place;  and 
there  was  a  story  that  a  ghost  used  to  walk 
of  nights  around  the  old  ruins,  and  that 
may  be  why  the  garden  was  allowed  to  go 
wild  and  grow  up  in  briers  and  bushes." 

The  boy  mentioned  the  finding  of  that 
same  old  well  during  their  morning  hunt; 
and  he  added  that  "it  looked  as  if  somebody 
else  had  been  thrown  in." 

The  father  smiled  at  this  as  a  mere  boy 
ish  terror.  There  was  nothing  connected 
with  such  a  discovery  to  give  it  a  sinister 
appearance,  and  no  more  was  thought  of  it. 


136          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 


.CHAPTER  XIV. 

ON    THE    TRAIL. 

The    patient   search   and    vigil    long. 

— Byron. 

The  result  of  the  detective's  meditations 
at  the  Blue  Boar  was  that  he  ought  to  cross 
the  river  and  see  if  he  could  not  trace  the 
missing  man  in  that  direction.  Leaving  un 
solved  the  mystery  of  his  night's  lodging, 
it  was  certain  he  had  gone  across  the  river 
next  morning,  and  as  he  was  to  visit  the 
vicinity  of  Clarksburg  had  probably  turned 
up  the  stream.  He  would  take  the  road  in 
that  direction  and  make  inquiry  at  farm 
houses  that  he  passed.  He  rose  early  and 
told  the  landlord  he  would  want  to  set  out 
directly  after  breakfast ;  and  when  he  had 
paid  his  bill  mounted  and  set  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  ferry.  The  landlord  was 
surprised  and  excited.  He  was  ignorant 
what  information  the  stranger  might  have 
obtained  the  evening  before,  and  this  move 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  137 

excited  the  wildest  conjectures.  He  felt 
that  a  crisis  was  at  hand.  Would  Harry 
and  his  friends  be  on  the  lookout  this  early  ? 
He  looked  around  for  some  means  of  get 
ting  word  to  Guy,  when  that  convenient 
person  strolled  up  from  the  direction  of  the 
stable.  Beckoning  him  inside,  "Guy,"  he 
said,  "the  stranger  has  just  gone  towards 
the  ferry.  I  don't  know  what  it  means — 
whether  he  is  going  to  your  place  or  in  the 
other  direction.  But  slip  down  to  the  river 
as  quick  as  you  can  without  attracting  atten 
tion  and  see  if  he  crosses  and  which  way  he 
goes." 

Guy  walked  leisurely  down  the  street  to 
the  river  bluff  as  if  he  had  the  day  before 
him.  When  he  arrived  on  the  bluff,  the 
ferry-boat  was  just  landing  on  the  other 
side  and  a  passenger  on  horseback  rode  up 
the  bank  and  took  the  road  up  the  river. 
Guy  looked  long  enough  to  be  sure  of  the 
identity  of  the  traveler  and  strolled  back  to 
the  Blue  Boar  and  communicated  to  Blue 
what  he  had  seen. 

"I  don't  understand  it,"  Jonas  said,  "but 
Harry  ought  to  know." 


138          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"I  will  go  right  over  as  soon  as  I  get 
breakfast,"  said  the  accommodating  Guy. 

A  mile  above  the  ferry  the  traveler  came 
to  a  prosperous  looking  farm-house  evi 
dently  belonging  to  a  large  farm  Two  or 
three  men  were  moving  about  the  barn  and 
yard.  He  rode  up  to  the  gate,  and  one  of 
the  younger  and  better  dressed  came  down 
to  meet  him.  He  explained  what  he  was 
looking  for ;  and  waited,  not  without  anxi 
ety,  for  the  reply.  The  farmer  said  he  had 
not  heard  of  any  cattle-buyer  from  a  dis 
tance.  None  had  been  at  their  place.  They 
did  some  grazing  and  were  often  visited  by 
buyers  looking  for  cattle,  but  none  had  been 
there  this  spring  or  summer  so  far.  He 
could  not  be  sure  he  was  home  at  the  date 
mentioned,  but  he  called  the  other  men  to 
the  gate  and  asked  if  anybody  had  stopped 
or  made  inquiry  for  cattle  some  six  weeks 
before ;  and,  on  their  answering  in  the  nega 
tive,  whether  they  had  seen  anybody  pass 
that  answered  the  description  which  the 
stranger  then  repeated  to  them.  None  had 
seen  or  heard  of  such  a  person. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  139 

This  was  discouraging,  but  it  would  not 
do  to  give  it  up  yet.  McKinney  might  have 
had  some  particular  place  to  visit  farther 
up  the  road  and  have  gone  directly  thither 
without  stopping  on  the  way.  He  rode  on 
and  two  miles  farther  came  to  a  village  with 
two  or  three  stores  and  shops.  To  his  in 
quiries,  he  received  on  all  hands  the  same 
kind  of  reply.  No  stranger  had  been  in  the 
village  or  had  passed  through,  unless  in  the 
night.  Would  he  pass  this  way  if  he  were 
going  to  Clarksburg?  Yes.  Were  there 
any  roads  on  which  he  might  have  turned 
off?  Yes,  one;  he  might  have  turned  up 
Robinson's  Run,  about  two  miles  back.  He 
went  back  and  turned  into  this  road.  A 
mile  or  more  from  the  river  he  came  to  a 
hamlet,  with  a  mill,  a  store  and  a  dozen 
dwellings.  The  farms  around  looked  prom 
ising  and  numbers  of  cattle  were  grazing 
on  the  fresh  green  grass  of  the  meadows. 
But  the  same  negative  met  all  his  inquiries. 
The  merchant  said  he  could  not  have  failed 
to  know  if  any  stranger  had  been  there  or 
had  passed  through  in  the  day  time,  and  he 
had  neither  seen  nor  heard  of  any. 


140  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

The  detective  returned  to  the  river  road 
and  drew  up  in  the  shade  for  a  little  reflec 
tion.  It  seemed  useless  to  pursue  the  quest 
any  farther  in  this  direction.  These  people 
could  not  all  be  in  a  conspiracy  to  give  him 
false  answers.  There  was  but  one  possible 
conclusion:  McKinney  had  gone  the  other 
way — down  the  river,  not  up;  and  while 
this  seemed  a  rather  inexplicable  move,  no 
doubt  it  would  be  simple  enough  when  un 
derstood.  Then  he  must  ride  down  the 
river  and  make  inquiry,  and  there  he  would 
find  the  clue. 

Unless — the  thought  darkly  crossed  his 
mind — unless  there  was  no  clue  to  be  found 
anywhere.  Unless  there  had  been  foul  play. 
He  had  not,  with  all  his  experience,  set  him 
self  seriously  to  consider  this  contingency 
before.  But  now  he  faced  it  resolutely. 
He  had  rested  on  the  assumption  that  some 
illness  or  other  ordinary  misfortune  had 
overtaken  McKinney;  but,  after  all,  if  this 
had  been  true,  why  had  not  he  or  some 
one  for  him  communicated  with  his  family? 
The  absence  of  all  word  argued  ill.  The 
detective  was  shaken  in  the  faith  he  had 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  141 

held  up  to  this  moment  that  McKinney  was 
somewhere  in  safety,  though  perhaps  not 
well. 

This  shadow  of  evil  came  over  him  like  a 
cloud,  and  out  of  that  cloud  came  the  sin 
ister  suggestion  that  possibly  one  of  the 
landlords  was  a  party  to  some  net  that  had 
entrapped  the  missing  cattle  buyer.  His 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  man  of  the  Blue 
Boar  and  he  reviewed  everything  he  had 
said  and  looked  in  their  interviews.  Suspi 
cion  sharpens  the  perceptions.  He  recalled 
that  at  the  first  meeting  he  had  been  con 
scious  of  a  secret  uneasiness  in  the  landlord, 
felt  rather  than  expressed,  and  that  when 
he  returned  and  took  his  horse  away,  and 
also  when  he  came  back  in  the  evening,  the 
landlord  had  not  asked,  as  people  naturally 
do  under  such  circumstances,  if  he  had 
heard  anything  of  his  missing  neighbor. 

He  was  thinking  intensely  on  this  train 
of  suggestion  when  he  came  opposite  the 
ferry  again,  and  he  stopped  under  a  tree  to 
run  out  his  thoughts  to  some  conclusion  be 
fore  he  went  farther.  He  looked  at  his 
watch  and  found  it  a  little  past  midday.  He 


142          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

had  almost  made  up  his  mind  that  he  had 
better  go  on  down  the  river  and  pursue  his 
inquiries,  when  he  saw  the  old  ferryman 
come  out  of  his  house  and  proceed  to  his 
shop  like  a  man  who  had  just  had  his  din 
ner.  This  reminded  him  of  his  own  hun 
ger,  of  which  he  had  hardly  been  conscious, 
so  tense  had  been  his  mental  stress,  and  it 
reminded  him  also  that  his  horse  needed 
both  food  and  drink.  He  hailed  the  ferry 
man  just  as  he  was  about  to  enter  his  shop 
and  signalled  him  to  bring  the  boat. 

When  he  had  come  aboard,  the  old  man 
asked  if  he  had  found  any  further  trace  of 
his  missing  neighbor.  He  replied  no;  but 
that  he  had  not  yet  been  down  the  river 
and  it  was  now  evident  his  neighbor  had 
gone  in  that  direction ;  that  he  thought  he 
would  go  down  that  way  after  dinner.  The 
ferryman  seemed  about  to  offer  some  sug 
gestion;  but  checked  himself,  as  if  think 
ing  better  of  it,  and  said  'no  more. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  143 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   CHANGE   OF   BASE. 

That's  a  perilous  shot  out  of  an  elder  gun. 

— Henry  IV. 

The  detective  rode  to  the  Busy  Bee  and 
handed  his  horse  to  the  hostler.  After  din 
ner  he  went  to  the  stable  to  see  the  condi 
tion  of  the  animal  and  to  have  assurance 
it  had  received  proper  attention.  It  hap 
pened  that  while  he  was  there,  Jacob 
Holmes,  the  wagon-maker,  came  into  the 
yard  pulling  a  buggy  he  had  repaired.  He 
dropped  the  shafts  and  after  some  word^ 
with  the  hostler  regarding  the  work  turned 
to  go  away,  when  the  stranger,  who  thought 
it  would  do  no  harm  to  widen  the  scope  of 
his  inquiries,  approached  and  addressed  him. 
Mr.  Holmes  was  an  approachable  man,  not 
destitute  of  curiosity  nor  averse  to  any  con 
versation  that  might  gratify  it. 


144  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

"You  are  pretty  well  acquainted  about 
this  place,  I  suppose,"  remarked  the  stran 
ger. 

"Yes ;  I  have  lived  here  several  years  and 
know  everybody  'round  here.  But  you  have 
the  advantage  of  me." 

"My  name  is  Bernard,  and  T  am  from 
Uniontown." 

"From  Uniontown!  I'm  glad  to  see  a 
man  from  Pennsylvany,  for  I  come  from 
Brownsville  myself  and  knew  people  at 
Uniontown,  Greensboro,  and,  in  fact,  I  have 
sold  wagons  to  people  all  round  in  that 
part  of  the  country.  My  name  is  Holmes — 
Jacob  Holmes.  My  journeyman,  Jim  Eng 
lish,  came  from  Uniontown.  Do  you  know- 
Robert  Dumfries  or  Bait  Kramer?" 

"I  have  heard  of  Dumfries ;  I  never  met 
him ;  and  I  know  Kramer,  near  Greensboro. 
Did  you  know  Thomas  McKinney  ?  He  was 
a  farmer,  and  I  think  had  one  farm  not  far 
from  Brownsville." 

"McKinney — McKinney?  Yes,  I  have 
heard  of  Thomas  McKinney.  He  had  cat- 
tie  farms  and  grazed  a  good  deal  ?" 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF   THE   ELM.  145 

"Yes.  Well,  McKinney  came  up  this  way 
about  six  weeks  ago  and  was  expected  back 
in  three  weeks.  He  has  not  been  heard  of. 
He  came  to  buy  cattle,  and  had  considerable 
money  with  him.  I  am  one  of  the  neigh 
bors,  and  came  up  to  see  if  I  could  get  any 
information  about  him." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Holmes,  with  interest. 
"Have  you  heard  anything?" 

"He  left  Fairmont,  they  told  me  at  the 
Mountain  City  House,  and  came  this  way, 
they  think  on  the  I4th  of  June,  for  the  reg 
ister  shows  he  stopped  there  the  evening'  of 
the  1 3th ;  and  he  crossed  the  river  here  early 
next  morning." 

"If  he  made  any  speed  and  came  straight 
on,"  remarked  Holmes,  "he  should  have  got 
here  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon." 

"I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  reached 
here  late  in  the  evening.  I  cannot  learn 
where  he  stayed  over  night.  It  appears  he 
did  not  stop  at  either  of  your  hotels ;  but 
as  he  crossed  on  the  ferry  here  at  early 
breakfast  time  the  next  morning,  he  must 
have  stayed  in  this  village  or  near  by." 

"Did  he  cross  the  river?" 


146          THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

"Yes,  the  ferryman  remembers  it  well ; 
and  he  must  have  gone  down  the  river  on 
the  other  side,  for  I  have  been  up  the  coun 
try  on  that  side  and  could  not  hear  of  him." 

This  suggested  something  to  Holmes, 
who  hesitated  and  looked  around.  The 
hostler  had  gone  back  to  the  house.  The  old 
wagon-maker  drew  nearer  to  Bernard  and, 
sinking  his  voice,  said :  "I  can  tell  you  some 
thing.  I  went  to  the  mill  early  on  Friday 
morning  just  about  the  time  you  speak  of — 
and  I  think  it  was  that  Friday ;  I  could  tell 
at  my  shop,  for  my  book  will  show  a  credit 
to  the  miller  for  feed  I  got  of  him  that 
morning — and  as  I  came  back  I  saw  a  man 
on  horseback  ride  off  the  ferry-boat  and 
take  the  road  down  the  river." 

The  detective  was  electrified.  "Could  you 
describe  his  appearance?" 

I  was  not  near  enough  to  tell  much  about 
the  man.  He  was  a  plainly  dressed,  farmer 
looking  man.  The  most  I  noticed  was  that 
his  horse,  a  bright  bay,  carried  himself  up 
very  stylishly,  and  was  a  pacer." 

"That  must  have  been  McKinney.  Where 
should  you  think  he  would  be  going?" 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          147 

"You  say  he  has  not  been  heard  of  since  ?" 

"No." 

"I  am  afraid  he  did  not  go  very  far.  I 
don't  know  what  to  think."  Holmes  seemed 
a  good  deal  agitated.  "There's  some  bad 
people  around  here,  and  it  is  not  very  safe 
for  us  who  live  here  to  say  much  about 
them." 

Bernard  was  intensely  interested.  He 
waited  for  the  old  man's  further  speech. 
Holmes  drew  nearer  and  said  in  an  agitated 
whisper :  "I  don't  dare  tell  you  what  I  fear. 
If  you  go  down  the  river  to  look  for  Mc- 
Kinney,  keep  a  sharp  lookout.  It  will  be 
better  for  you  not  to  go — at  least  not  by 
yourself.  And  don't  tell  a  soul  that  you  had 
any  talk  with  me  about  it." 

The  speaker  turned  abruptly  and  walked 
away,  leaving  Bernard  astonished  at  what 
the  old  man  had  told  him  and  no  less  at 
his  manner  of  telling  it. 

Bernard  went  back  to  the  house  and  asked 
for  a  room,  went  to  it,  sat  down  and  took 
his  head  between  his  hands  and  sat  there 
motionless  for  a  long  time.  With  these  new 
revelations,  he  had  to  go  over  the  whole 


148          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

ground  again ;  to  look  at  the  facts,  piece  by 
piece,  and  put  them  together  again ;  and  he 
saw  that  a  mystery  of  .the  profoundest  in 
terest  and  of  dark  colors  was  opening  be 
fore  him.  What  and  where  was  the  danger 
that  Holmes  had  warned  him  against? 
Plainly,  whatever  and  wherever  it  was,  it 
was  connected  with  the  disappearance  of 
McKinney. 

And  now  he  was  confirmed  in  his  opinion 
that  McKinney  had  stayed  at  one  or  other 
of  the  village  hotels.  He  reviewed  the  inci 
dents  and  conversations  of  the  two  days ; 
and  when  he  had  finished  the  review  he  saw 
that  the  first  thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  sat 
isfy  himself  which  of  the  publicans  had 
taken  the  stranger  in.  He  went  down  stairs 
and  sauntered  into  the  bar  and  engaged  the 
landlord  in  conversation.  The  man  talked 
freely  and  naturally,  without  any  restraint, 
asking  what  he  had  learned,  if  anything,  to 
account  for  his  missing  neighbor,  and  try 
ing  with  a  native  curiosity  to  find  out  some 
thing  about  himself.  Clearly  there  was  no 
occasion  for  suspicion  in  this  quarter.  The 
more  he  reflected,  the  more  he  was  con- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  149 

vinced  the  man  at  the  Blue  Boar  knew  more 
of  McKinney  than  he  was  willing  to  tell; 
that  the  cattle-buyer  had  stayed  there  over 
night  and  had  probably  acted  on  some  sug 
gestion  when  he  went  next  morning  at  such 
an  early  hour  down  the  river  and  into 
oblivion. 

In  the  evening,  after  an  early  tea,  he 
walked  up  the  street  to  the  Blue  Boar  cor 
ner.  Several  loungers  were  on  the  pave 
ment  and  on  a  bench  at  the  end  of  the  house. 
The  landlord  himself  was  standing  in  the 
corner  door  leaning  against  the  jamb,  and 
was  manifestly  ill  at  ease  under  the  keen 
scrutiny  with  which  Bernard  favored  him. 
He  merely  said  "good  evening"  and  Ber 
nard  returned  the  salutation.  The  conver 
sation  of  the  loungers  was  suspended;  and 
to  relieve  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation 
Bernard  approached  the  person  nearest  and 
politely  asked  to  be  directed  to  the  postoffice. 
The  building  just  across  the  street  was 
pointed  out  to  him  and  he  walked  over  and 
asked  if  there  was  a  letter  for  Mark  Ber 
nard.  There  was  none  (as  he  knew)  and  he 
returned  down  the  street.  Taking  the  other 


150          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

side  he  joined  a  group  in  front  of  a  store 
just  across  from  the  Busy  Bee.  It  was  the 
usual  evening  assembly  to  discuss  affairs, 
local  and  national.  As  he  came  up  he  heard 
allusion  to  the  inquiries  made  for  a  missing 
man  and  to  the  ferryman's  report  that  he 
had  crossed  the  river.  He  passed  into  the 
store  and  got  a  cigar  and  came  back  and 
stood  in  the  door  while  he  lighted  it.  There 
was  evident  restraint  in  the  talk,  due  either 
to  his  presence  or  to  other  reason,  but  one 
man  spoke  out  boldly: 

"If  he  had  any  money  with  him  he'd  bet 
ter  have  stayed  on  this  side  of  the  river." 

Clearly  the  other  side  of  the  river  was 
dangerous  territory.  Bernard  noted  the 
speaker  and  crossed  to  the  hotel.  A  half 
hour  later  he  met  this  man  in  the  growing 
dusk  on  the  hotel  pavement,  and  catching 
his  eye  advanced  and  introduced  himself  as 
a  person  in  search  of  the  missing  man  who 
had  been  alluded  to  in  the  conversation 
across  the  street.  "Would  you  mind  telling 
mt,  in  confidence,"  he  said,  "why  you  said 
what  you  did  about  the  danger  of  carrying 
money  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  ?"  The 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          151 

other,  who  seemed  a  rather  keen,  intelligent 
man,  drew  Bernard  to  one  side. 

"If  you  can  keep  the  counsel  I  give  you," 
he  said,  "I  don't  mind  telling  you  to  be  on 
your  guard  in  any  inquiries  you  push  here 
in  the  village  or  hereabouts  regarding  the 
missing  cattle-buyer.  There  is  a  gang  in 
this  neighborhood  that  is  not  above  killing  a 
man  for  money,  and  it  is  possible  your 
friend  has  fallen  into  their  clutches.  Their 
headquarters  are  the  farm  next  below  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river.  If  you  are  sure  he 
went  that  way,  I  should  be  afraid  he  never 
got  past  that  farm.  Have  you  icason  to 
think  he  went  to  their  place  for  anything?" 

Bernard  replied  that  was  what  he  feared. 
Seeing  he  could  talk  freely  to  this  man,  he 
proceeded  to  tell  him  about  his  inquiry  at 
the  hotels  to  learn  if  McKinney  had  stayed 
at  either  on  a  certain  Thursday  night  in 
June  before  the  ferryman  set  him  over  the 
river  next  morning,  and  the  negative  state 
ment  of  both  landlords. 

"This  landlord  here,"  said  the  other,  "is 
all  right.  Whatever  he  told  you  was  the 
truth." 


152  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

"How  about  the  other  ?"  asked  Bernard. 

"I  don't  say  anything  about  him;  but  if 
your  friend  crossed  the  river  Friday  morn 
ing  as  early  as  the  ferryman  says,  depend 
upon  it  he  stayed  in  this  town  o\er  night; 
and  I  don't  believe  he  would  go  to  a  private 
house  when  there  were  two  hotels  open. 
If  he  did,  we  would  have  heard  of  it  before 
this,  for  the  town  has  been  talking  about 
the  matter  all  day." 

"Would  you  advise  me  to  go  down  the 
river  to  the  place  you  speak  of  and  make 
inquiry  ?" 

"By  no  means,  unless  you  had  a  sheriff's 
posse  behind  you.  Being  on  your  guard, 
you  might  do  it  and  come  away  safely ;  but 
you  would  get  no  information  and  there 
would  be  nothing  to  pay  you  for  the  risk. 
We  here  are  all  afraid  to  say  much  about 
this  gang.  While  we  know  a  good  deal, 
and  believe  a  great  deal  more,  in  regard  to 
their  deviltry,  it  is  hard  to  get  evidence  that 
we  could  act  on.  It  is  risky  even  to  talk 
openly  about  them,  for  they  have  connec 
tions  and  spies  in  the  town  and  we  never 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          153 

know  when  our  words  may  be  repeated  at 
headquarters." 

"Could  you  give  me  the  name  by  which 
this  gang  is  known  and  particularly  the 
one  who  is  the  head  or  leader?" 

"Esmond  is  the  name  of  the  family  who 
own  the  farm,  and  Harry  Esmond  is  the 
leader." 

"I  am  very  greatly  indebted  to  you,"  said 
Bernard,  seeing  the  other  was  inclined  to 
close  the  conversation. 

"Let  me  tell  you  one  thing  more,"  said 
the  other,  recalling  him.  "If  our  surmises 
are  correct  as  to  the  fate  that  has  overtaken 
your  friend,  it  being  known  you  are  here 
tracing  for  him,  you  will  be  in  constant 
danger,  in  the  village  or  out  of  it." 

"Thank  you  for  the  caution,"  returned 
Bernard  as  they  parted. 

He  went  to  his  room  overwhelmed  at  the 
ramifications  and  turpitude  of  the  plot  that 
was  unfolding.  He  lay  down  on  the  bed 
without  undressing,  without  making  a  light, 
riot  to  sleep  but  to  consider  these  latest  as 
pects  of  the  problem  that  confronted  him. 
He  did  not  for  a  moment  question  the  truth 


154          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

of  what  had  just  been  told  him.  It  more 
than  corroborated  what  had  been  said  by 
Holmes.  The  hint  regarding  the  landlord 
of  the  Blue  Boar  confirmed  his  own  suspi 
cion.  Manifestly  the  publican  had  played 
the  part  of  decoy;  had  given  McKinney 
false  information  or  some  concocted  story 
that  had  lured  him  into  a  trap  prepared  for 
him. 

But  was  not  Bernard  traveling  too  fast 
towards  conclusions?  How  should  the 
landlord  do  this  when  McKinney  only  got 
there  at  dark  and  left  early  next  morning? 
What  could  the  landlord  know  about  him 
or  how  confer  with  confederates  across  the 
river  in  so  short  a  time?  Then  it  occurred 
to  him  that  McKinney's  family  had  said  he 
had  been  advised  to  come  to  this  village; 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  said  a  par 
ticular  hotel  had  been  mentioned  at  which 
it  would  be  best  for  him  to  stop.  This  had 
to  be  considered.  Could  there  be  a  conspir 
acy  reaching  as  far  as  that?  Accustomed 
as  Bernard  had  been  to  unravel  the  tangled 
webs  of  criminal  life,  he  was  a  little  startled 
by  this  idea,  that  here  was  a  band  with 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  155 

agents  in  another  state  making  suggestions 
of  false  information  to  lure  men  who  car 
ried  money  in  the  course  of  their  honest 
business  into  snares  laid  for  them,  with 
spies  and  agents  at  every  point  where 
needed  to  direct  the  steps  of  the  unwary  to 
their  death ! 

Bernard  lay  till  midnight  without  even 
changing  his  position,  so  tense  and  absorb 
ing  was  the  turmoil  of  his  thoughts.  Then 
he  rose  and  undressed;  and,  recalling  the 
caution  he  had  received,  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock  and  laid  his  revolver  under  his 
pillow.  But  before  dropping  into  the  un 
easy  slumber  that  filled  the  rest  of  the  night, 
he  plainly  saw  the  futility  of  any  further 
prosecution  of  his  quest  in  the  manner  he 
had  begun  it.  It  would  take  time,  he  would 
need  help,  and  the  problem  must  be  ap 
proached  in  another  way.  He  would  return 
to  Uniontown  and  with  the  help  of  informa 
tion  to  be  supplied  by  the  family  see  if  he 
could  pick  up  a  thread  at  that  end  of  the 
line. 


156          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

Next  morning,  having  reached  definite 
conclusions  and  a  settled  purpose,  he  set 
out  on  his  return,  passing  up  to  the  Fair 
mont  road  at  the  street  intersection  in  front 
of  the  Blue  Boar.  The  landlord  was  out 
sweeping  the  pavement  and  saw  him  turn 
the  corner  to  the  north.  A  moment  later 
he  went  to  the  stable  whither  Guy  had  just 
gone  with  the  hostler.  "Put  the  saddle  and 
bridle  on  Sam,"  he  said  in  a  peremptory 
way  that  meant  he  wanted  it  done  quick. 
He  drew  Guy  to  one  side.  "Mr.  Detective 
has  started  back  to  Fairmont.  Guess  he's 
had  enough  of  this  town.  Take  Sam  and 
ride  over  and  left  Harry  know.  He  may 
want  to  say  farewell  to  the  fellow  so  he 
will  know  he  need  not  come  again.  John 
son  could  take  the  short  cut  and  meet  him 
in  the  woods  at  Riley  Hill.  He  ought  to 
take  a  little  lead  with  him  back  to  Union- 
town  as  a  keepsake." 

An  hour  later  as  Bernard  was  riding 
leisurely  up  the  hill  leaving  the  river  a 
mile  or  so  south  of  Worthlesston,  busy  with 
his  thoughts  and  scarcely  noticing  his  sur 
roundings,  he  was  startled  by  the  crack  of 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  157 

a  rifle  in  the  bushes  near  by  and  the  simul 
taneous  whistle  of  the  ball.  He  felt  his 
coat  twitch  and  looking  down  saw  that  the 
bullet  had  passed  through  both  coat  and 
vest  within  two  inches  of  his  heart.  He 
first  thought  that  some  careless  squirrel 
hunter  had  come  perilously  near  killing  the 
wrong  game.  A  moment  later  he  thought 
of  the  Esmond  gang  and  of  the  warning 
that  had  been  given  him.  He  put  whip  to 
the  horse  and  rode  rapidly  over  the  hill. 

When  he  stopped  to  pay  toll  at  the 
Worthlesston  bridge,  he  asked  the  gate 
keeper,  showing  him  the  bullet-holes,  if 
travelers  on  the  roads  hereabouts  were  re 
quired  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  being  shot 
at?  The  old  gateman,  total  incapable  of 
understanding  a  jest,  replied  that  all  he  paid 
for  was  going  over  the  road  and  that  the 
shooting  was  no  part  of  the  road  regula 
tions  ;  and  he  turned  and  pointed  to  the 
printed  rules  posted  up  beside  the  gate. 
Bernard  smiled  at  the  old  man's  simplicity 
and  rode  on. 


158  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TURNING   A   NEW    LEAF. 

Oh,    reform    it   altogether. 

— Hamlet. 

George  Holmes  had  reached  the  crisis  of 
his  life.  He  felt  it  as  he  had  never  felt 
anything  before.  The  pleading,  impas 
sioned  words  of  Loraine — her  pale  face,  her 
tears ;  above  all,  her  appeal  to  his  manhood, 
and  her  promise  to  follow  him  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth  whenever  he  had  shown  him 
self  worthy  of  her  respect  and  love — had 
stirred  the  fountains  of  feelings  that  had 
for  years  been  sealed  in  the  lad's  soul.  It 
was  as  if  scales  had  dropped  from  his  eyes, 
and  he  saw  with  the  clear  sight  of  truth 
and  conscience  the  monstrous  life  he  had 
been  leading,  and  also  the  despicable  weak 
ness  and  pusillanimity  that  had  overgrown 
his  real  and  better  self.  Days  passed  in  the 
struggle  over  the  revelation  and  the  dis- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  159 

turbance  wrought  by  it  in  the  whole  tenor 
of  his  being. 

He  took  early  occasion  to  converse  with 
his  father  and  under  pledge  of  absolute 
secrecy  told  him  the  whole  story  of  his 
connection  with  the  Esmonds,  his  partici 
pation  in  some  of  their  lawless  deeds  and 
his  knowledge  of  others  in  which  he  had 
no  part.  A  new  leaven  was  working  in 
the  boy's  heart,  and  day  by  day  he  grew 
more  determined  and  more  impatient  to 
find  a  place  to  begin  the  new  life  he  was 
pledged  to  and  resolved  on.  In  his  new 
character  as  a  man  of  purpose  and  action, 
he  determined  that  he  would  not  see  Lo- 
raine  again.  He  would  not  risk  his  new 
strength  by  putting  himself  under  the  spell 
that  seemed  always  to  disarm  him  of  every 
desire  in  the  world  except  the  wish  never 
to  leave  her.  He  would  when  he  was  ready 
to  go  away  write  her  a  parting  word. 

He  left  home  one  morning  and  walked 
to  the  farm  of  his  uncle  Andy  Morrow,  a 
half  dozen  miles  distant.  "Uncle  Andy," 
he  said  to  his  kinsman  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity,  "I  have  come  up  to  see  if  you  can 


160  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

not  give  me  some  work  on  the  farm  and  if 
you  will  not  let  me  stay  here  and  work  till 
the  holidays.  I  will  work  faithfully  and 
earn  my  wages  if  you  will  pay  me  the  same 
as  the  other  hands." 

"Uncle  Andy,"  who  had  a  soft  place  in 
his  heart  for  the  lad  and  had  grieved  over 
his  obliquities,  was  glad  to  hear  him  say 
this.  "George,  do  you  really  mean  it?" 

"As  God  is  my  judge,"  he  replied.  "I 
have  turned  over  a  new  leaf  and  I  only 
want  a  chance  to  begin.  Try  me." 

"You  shall  go  to  work  Monday  morning, 
and  I  will  pay  you  the  same  as  the  others." 

"All  I  ask,"  said  George,  "is  that  you 
will  pay  me  up  at  New  Year's,  for  then  I 
will  want  to  go  home  and  will  have  need 
of  the  money." 

"That  will  be  all  right ;  but  you  will  want 
to  go  home  oftener  than  that?" 

"No;  and  I  would  like  just  as  few  people 
as  possible  to  know  that  I  am  here,"  speak 
ing  in  a  subdued  manner. 

"All  right." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          161 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DIGGING  APPROACHES. 

Smooth  runs  the  water  where  the  brook  is  deep. 

— Henry   VI. 

A  fortnight  to  three  weeks  after  the  re 
turn  of  Mr.  Mark  Bernard  to  Uniontown, 
there  arrived  at  Walker's  hotel  in  Clarks 
burg  a  good  looking,  keen-eyed  man  who 
might  be  thirty  years  old,  with  trunk  and 
stylish  leather  hand-bag,  who  registered  the 
name  of  "Allan  St.  George,  Baltimore." 
For  a  day  or  two  he  moved  quietly  about 
the  hotel,  or  sat  in  the  reading  room,  read 
ing  or  writing  letters.  He  had  the  poise, 
the  quiet  demeanor,  the  courtesy  toward 
strangers,  that  mark  the  man  who  has 
knocked  about  the  world  and  worn  off  the 
rough  corners.  He  dressed  in  good  taste 
without  display  save  a  single  diamond  of 
rare  luster,  evidently  of  great  value,  worn 
in  his  tie. 

The  weather  being  fine,  he  walked  around 
the  town  a  little,  visiting  the  other  hotels 


162  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

and  loitering  in  their  offices  and  reading 
rooms,  as  a  man  will  who  has  a  little  more 
leisure  on  his  hands  than  he  knows  what 
to  do  with.  Then  he  procured  a  horse  and 
buggy  from  the  livery  and  drove  out  on  the 
country  roads — up  the  Weston  pike,  out 
towards  Buckhannon,  down  the  Fairmont 
pike  towards  Riverside.  One  Sunday  he 
climbed  to  the  summit  of  Pinnickinick  and 
spent  an  hour  or  so  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
lovely  landscape  that  spread  beneath  that 
lofty  outlook. 

One  of  the  first  acquaintances  he  made 
was  "Uncle  Jim"  Bartlett,  the  -host  of  the 
Bartlett  Hotel — probably  as  unique  and  in 
teresting  a  character  as  Clarksburg  ever 
produced.  He  found  the  old  man  a  mine  of 
information  about  nearly  everything  he 
wanted  to  know  and  often  dropped  into  his 
office  to  chat  with  him.  There  were  nu 
merous  ties,  business  and  social,  between 
Clarksburg  and  Baltimore,  and  Uncle  Jim 
was  always  glad  to  see  a  Baltimore  man, 
even  if  he  did  not  happen  to  know  person 
ally  any  of  his  Baltimore  acquaintances. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          163 

St.  George  did  not  push  himself  on  any 
body  ;  but,  as  he  was  a  pleasant  looking  and 
pleasant  spoken  gentleman,  he  began  to  pick 
up  friendly  acquaintances  about  the  hotels 
and  elsewhere.  There  will  always  be  found 
a  few  persons  curious  to  know  something 
about  the  personal  affairs  of  a  stranger. 
Mr.  St.  George  met  some  of  these;  and 
he  knew  just  how  to  answer  their  inquiries, 
with  both  reserve  and  candor,  to  make  them 
feel  he  had  confided  to  them  the  actual  state 
of  his  business  and  intentions.  It  soon  be 
came  understood  around  the  town  that  he 
was  a  man  of  means  and  not  averse  to 
making  some  investments  in  or  about  the 
old  Harrison  County  town — perhaps  in 
grazing  lands  or  coal  lands ;  possibly  in  the 
establishment  of  a  bank  if  he  found  there 
was  room  for  another.  There  was  just 
enough  vagueness  in  the  plans  thus  dis 
closed  to  make  him  an  object  of  interest. 
A  young  man  who  has  money  to  place  will 
not  lack  for  opportunities  or  advice.  He 
will  be  sought  by  people  who  have  prop 
erty  to  sell,  or  marriageable  daughters  to 
get  rid  of,  or  speculative  schemes  to  pro- 


164  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

mote  promising  enormous  returns  but  re 
quiring  just  a  little  more  capital;  or,  last, 
by  the  devotees  of  sport,  who  know  sure 
ways  to  add  to  his  wealth  by  the  opportuni 
ties  to  be  found  at  such  places  as  the  gam 
ing-table  or  the  race-track.  St  George  soon 
found  himself  courted  by  these  various  in 
terests.  He  was  invited  out  in  a  social  way, 
and  was  the  cynosure  of  many  bright  eyes 
at  the  Pike  street  church  he  attended  on 
Sabbath.  He  saw  he  was  getting  too  popu 
lar  in  the  upper  circles  and  withdrew  some 
what  from  the  glare  of  so  much  favor.  His 
purposes  did  not  lie  in  that  direction. 

All  the  while  he  had  been,  as  much  as 
he  dared,  pushing  his  acquaintance  with 
the  sports  of  the  town.  He  was  on  all 
proper  occasions  free  with  money  and  ready 
to  pay  for  cigars  and  drinks  for  those  who 
would  indulge — and  there  is  no  shorter  cut 
than  this  to  the  good  will  of  the  average 
"sport."  He  gave  them  to  understand  they 
were  more  to  his  taste  than  the  "upper 
crust"  who  were  inclined  to  take  him  up. 
While  he  seemed  more  than  willing  to  get 
acquainted  with  everybody  in  sporting  cir- 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  165 

cles,  he  was  timid  about  the  risks  they 
offered  him  and  posed  somewhat  in  the  role 
of  a  "tenderfoot ;"  which  made  him  all  the 
more  interesting  to  these  acquaintances.  It 
was  not  long  before  he  was  able  to  divide 
them  into  two  groups ;  the  non-professional, 
who  were  getting  rid  of  their  money;  and 
the  professional,  who  were  acquiring  it. 
He  was  surprised  to  find  so  many  expert 
gamblers  in  this '  small  town ;  but  he  soon 
discovered  it  was  a  sort  of  center  for  the 
towns  and  country  behind  it,  and  drew 
largely  on  the  resources  of  this  tributary 
region,  embracing  places  like  Weston,  Glen- 
ville,  Sutton,  Buckhannon,  Beverly  and 
Phillippa.  For  he  began  to  be  introduced 
to  gentlemen  from  these  places,  who  found 
the  attractions  of  Clarksburg  not  confined 
to  the  landscape  and  other  surface  pulchri 
tudes.  There  were  lawyers  and  judges,  and 
doctors  and  capitalists,  and  others  who  were 
none  of  these,  that  were  not  averse  to  a 
game  and  who  did  not  scorn  to  profit  by 
their  skill  at  the  expense  of  the  less  expert 
visitors  from  the  "back  counties"  who 
stopped  over  night  as  they  passed  between 


166  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

their  mountain  homes  and  the  commercial 
cities  beyond. 

These  professionals  and  experts  thought 
they  were  drawing  St.  George  into  their 
nets.  He,  complete  master  of  himself  and 
of  his  plans,  was  only  using  them  to  for 
ward  purposes  of  his  own,  the  first  of  which 
was  to  get  familiar  with  all  the  shady  people 
he  could  find  in  that  vicinity. 

There  is  a  sort  of  freemasonry  in  vice 
and  crime,  with  unperceived  grips  and  in 
visible  signs,  connecting  their  votaries  by 
strong  but  intangible  ties.  One  looking  for 
a  horse-thief  or  murderer,  will  not  go  far 
astray  if  he  seeks  him  in  the  haunts  of  the 
gambling  fraternity.  He  would  have  taken 
another  long  step  toward  his  goal  when  he 
got  to  know  intimately  the  frequenters  of 
the  race-course.  People  who  steal,  or  who 
murder  for  money,  nine  times  in  ten 
find  their  compensation  at  the  gaming-table 
or  the  race-track. 

St.  George  was  quietly  but  rapidly  mak 
ing  himself  familiar  with  the  seamy  side 
of  the  old  county  town.  In  these  circles 
he  assumed  more  and  more  the  air  of  a 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          167 

sport  and  manifested  a  little  more  reckless 
and  adventurous  disposition  than  he  would 
have  cared  to  show  in  other  circles.  From 
time  to  time  he  accepted  the  invitations  of 
gentlemen  from  other  towns,  and  visiting 
them,  renewed  these  acquaintances  and 
made  others;  all  the  while  delving  deeper 
and  deeper  into  that  predatory  substratum 
of  society  which  subsists  by  excursions  be 
yond  the  moral  and  statutory  codes.  In 
a  surprisingly  short  time,  considering  the 
magnitude  and  difficulty  of  the  task,  and 
without  apparent  special  effort  (though 
really  as  the  result  of  prodigious  study  and 
activity),  he  knew  nearly  all  the  equivocal 
characters  in  two  or  three  counties. 

One  night  he  was  introduced  to  a  Mr. 
Keifer,  who  he  learned  divided  him  time 
and  talents  between  Clarksburg  and  Buck- 
hannon  and  some  other  less  conspicuous 
localities.  They  became  good  friends  with 
great  speed.  St.  George  had  heard  of 
Keifer  as  an  intimate  of  Harry  Esmond, 
and  the  acquaintance  would  be  a  step  to 
wards  his  aim.  Keifer  thought  St.  George 
might  be  a  goose  that  he  could  pluck.  As 


168          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

the  friendship  grew,  St.  George  regaled 
Keifer  with  stories  of  his  adventures  in  the 
East,  some  of  them  very  wild  (for  St. 
George  was  gifted  with  a  ready  invention^, 
and  Keifer,  in  return,  told  of  some  bold 
strokes  whereby  he  had  gotten  on  the  blind 
side  of  dame  fortune.  He  mentioned  his 
acquaintance  with  Esmond  and  wanted  St. 
George  to  meet  him  as  soon  as  it  could  be 
brought  about.  St.  George  expressed  the 
great  pleasure  it  would  give  him  to  meet 
Mr.  Esmond,  without  showing  a  shade  of 
the  solicitude  he  felt  to  bring  about  this 
very  result.  He  gave  Keifer  to  understand 
that  he  had  at  command  considerable 
money,  if  he  could  find  a  way  to  employ  it 
profitably,  and  asked  him  to  keep  an  eye  out 
for  ventures  that  might  offer  beyond  what 
he  would  desire  for  himself.  Such  friend 
ships  ripen  quickly  when  both  parties  con 
cur  in  applying  the  necessary  warmth.  At 
the  end  of  a  week  Keifer  would  have  sworn 
he  had  known  St.  George  a  year,  and  that 
he  knew  him  inside  and  out,  from  top  to 
bottom,  as  a  prince  of  good  fellows. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          169 

The  morning  after  the  first  meeting  with 
Keifer,  St.  George  wrote  in  his  room  a  re 
port  to  his  chief,  Mr.  Mark  Bernard,  Pitts- 
burg,  in  which  occurred  this  passage : 

"I  have  at  last  made  the  acquaintance  of 
a  man  who  is  an  intimate  of  Esmond's  and 
I  think  a  member  of  the  gang.  Through 
him  I  feel  sure  I  shall  soon  secure  a  meet 
ing  with  Esmond  under  favorable  auspices." 

One  night  Keifer  had  a  friend  with  him, 
whom  he  introduced  to  St.  George  as  Mr. 
Tarbert — "a  friend,  by  the  way,"  he  added, 
"of  Harry  Esmond."  This  acquaintance 
was  another  step  forward  and  the  pleasure 
it  gave  St.  George  lent  such  a  charm  to 
his  manner  towards  Tarbert  that  the  latter 
was  delighted  and  told  Keifer  afterwards 
that  St.  George  was  the  "nicest  fellow" 
he  had  ever  met.  Tarbert  told  them  there 
was  to  be  a  day's  races  at  Sardis,  a  small 
village  on  Tenmile,  a  few  miles  west  of 
Clarksburg,  in  which  neighborhood  it  ap 
peared  Mr.  Tarbert  had  his  home.  He  in 
vited  them  to  come  over  and  see  the  sport. 

"I  wonder  if  Harry  will  be  there?"  asked 
Keifer. 


170  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"I  think  he  will,"  replied  Tarbert.  "If 
you  would  like  to  see  him  I  will  send  him 
word  and  perhaps  he  will  come." 

"I  would  like  to  see  him,"  Keifer  said. 
"I  have  some  things  I  want  to  talk  over 
with  him,  and  I  would  like  him  to  meet  Mr. 
St.  George." 

St.  George  expressed  the  great  pleasure 
this  would  give  him.  He  was  not  sure  but 
some  matters  of  business  might  recall  him 
to  Baltimore  about  that  time ;  but  if  he 
could  arrange  it,  he  would  go  to  Sardis  and 

see  the  races. 

*     *     * 

The  day  for  the  races  arrived.  St.  George 
found  the  Baltimore  business  could  wait. 
He  hired  the  best  livery  team  he  could  get 
in  the  town  and,  with  Keifer,  drove  across 
the  country  to  Sardis.  They  went  to  the 
Ogden  House  and  had  the  horse  fed  and 
got  dinner.  They  soon  met  Tarbert,  who 
introduced  them  to  numerous  friends.  One 
was  Lynn  Johnson,  who,  in  answer  to  Tar- 
bert's  inquiry,  said  Esmond  would  be  there 
but  it  might  be  the  middle  of  the  afternoon 
before  he  would  arrive.  A  little  after  two 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  171 

o'clock  Keifer  caught  sight  of  Esmond  rid 
ing  into  the  village.  He  rode  up  to  the 
hotel  in  front  of  which  they  were  standing 
and  descending  gave  Keifer  a  cordial  greet 
ing.  Keifer  turning  to  St.  George,  said : 

"Harry,  I  want  you  to  know  a  friend  of 
mine,  Mr.  St.  George,  of  Baltimore,  who 
is  a  man  after  your  own  heart." 

Esmond  turned  with  beaming  cordiality : 
"Mr.  St.  George,  I  am  glad  to  know  any 
friend  of  Keifer's.  He  is  such  a  bear  that 
when  he  endorses  a  man  I  know  he  must 
have  unusual  merit." 

St.  George  was  flattered  by  his  reception, 
and  on  his  part  showed  just  enough  delicate 
deference  to  complete  the  conquest  begun 
by  Keifer's  flattering  introduction. 

After  a  little  chat  Esmond  moved  about 
to  find  Tarbert  and  other  friends,  and  at 
three  o'clock  they  went  to  the  race  track. 
It  was  a  half-mile  course  and  there  were 
five  entries :  Nancy  Jane,  Blue  Bell,  Fanny 
EUsler,  Spotted  Horse  and  Dandy  Jim. 

"Old  Spot,"  said  Johnson,  "used  to  be 
a  bird.  I  have  ridden  him  myself  and  have 


172          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

won  good  money;  but  he  is  getting  a  little 
stiff." 

St.  George  put  a  $20  gold  piece  on  Nancy 
Jane ;  and  to  his  surprise,  he  won.  Esmond 
did  not  bet  on  the  first  race;  but  on  the 
next  he  bet  $50  on  Blue  Bell,  and  was  also  a 
winner.  Johnson  lost  $10  on  Dandy  Jim. 

St.  George,  keeping  up  his  role  of  tender 
foot,  did  not  bet  again ;  but  Esmond  won 
$100  on  the  last  race  by  laying  it  on  Fanny. 
Pleased  with  his  good  luck,  he  led  the  way 
to  the  hotel  and  ordered  drinks.  When  St. 
George  poured  out  about  a  spoonful  in  his 
glass,  Tarbert  noticed  it  and  looked  around 
and  smiled. 

"Al.  is  a  sort  of  tenderfoot,"  said  Keifer ; 
"you  musn't  mind  it."  (St.  George  had 
told  Keifer  he  was  called  "Al."  among  his 
familiars.) 

"Don't  despise  me,  gentlemen,"  said  St. 
George.  "I've  been  trying  all  my  life  to 
learn  to  drink,  and  I  can't  do  it.  I  haven't 
the  head  for  it." 

"Don't  feel  bad  about  it,"  laughed  Es 
mond  ;  "I'm  in  the  same  boat.  Some  of 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          173 

my  boys  will  drink  as  much  in  one  minute 
as  I  can  in  a  month." 

St.  George  looked  at  his  youthful  face 
with  a  touch  of  surprise.  "Your  'boys'? 
Have  you  any  boys  old  enough  to  drink  ?" 

"O,"  said  Harry,  flushing  a  little,  "I 
haven't  any  boys  of  my  own — at  least  none 
that  I  acknowledge,"  smiling  "I  meant 
some  of  my  friends.  Johnson  here  is  one 
of  them.  Look  at  his  glass  (which  he  had 
filled  to  the  brim).  Now  Johnson  isn't  a 
very  big  man,  but  that  kind  of  a  drink 
never  staggers  him." 

Johnson  was  a  little  dashed,  but  he  came 
well  out  of  it. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  turning  to  St.  George, 
"I  drink  so  much  at  Harry's  expense  that 
I  have  got  into  this  'full  habit'  through  try 
ing  to  see  that  he  gets  the  worth  of  his 
money.  I  sacrifice  myself  to  my  conscience, 
for  it  makes  me  unpopular  with  the  bar 
keepers." 

"I'll  keep  you  company  this  time,"  said 
Harry,  pouring  a  spoonful  into  his  glass ; 
and  he  proposing  the  health  of  their  new 
friend,  Mr.  St.  George,  they  all  emptied 
their  glasses. 


174  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

"Abe,"  said  Esmond,  "it  is  getting  to 
wards  evening,  and  I  have  a  long  ride. 
Why  can't  you  and  Mr.  St.  George  go 
home  with  me  and  stay  over  Sunday?" 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Keifer,  "I  have  some 
matters  I  want  to  talk  over  with  you,  and 
if  it  would  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  St.  George 
to  go,  I  should  be  glad  to  do  it." 

St.  George  assured  both  nothing  could 
give  him  more  pleasure;  but  what  would 
the  livery  keeper  think  if  his  team  did  not 
come  back  this  evening? 

"Yonder  is  a  Clarksburg  man,"  said 
Keifer.  "I'll  send  word  by  him  that  we 
have  gone  down  the  river  and  will  be  back- 
Sunday  evening." 

"That  is  it,"  said  Harry.  "That  will  suit 
all  round.  So  it  is  settled  and  let's  be  off." 
Turning  to  St.  George,  he  added: 

"You'll  have  to  take  pot-luck.  You  will 
find  plain  people  and  rough  fare  at  our 
house,  but  you  will  be  as  welcome  as  if  we 
could  offer  you  a  royal  palace." 

"Never  fear,"  said  St.  George;  "the  wel 
come  is  all  I  care  for." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          175 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BEARING  THE  CROSS. 

Canst  thou      

Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow; 
And  with  some  sweet,  oblivious  antidote 
Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff. 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart?          — Macbeth. 

After  her  parting  with  George  Holmes 
— after  she  had  spoken  her  heart  to  him 
so  unreservedly  (and,  had  she  known  it, 
so  effectively),  Loraine  Esmond  felt  some 
sense  of  shame  lest  she  had  overstepped  the 
delicate  boundary  of  maiden  modesty.  Yet 
she  had  felt  then,  and  still  believed,  that  a 
crisis  had  been  reached  in  their  lives  which 
made  plain  speaking  and  a  clear  under 
standing  of  their  relations  to  each  other 
imperative.  At  times  she  had  a  feeling 
that  she  had  touched  his  pride  and  aroused 
in  him  something  that  he  had  long  been 
a  stranger  to. 

Days  passed,  and  weeks,  yet  she  saw  no 
more  of  him  nor  had  any  word  from  him. 


176          THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

She  realized  that  his  safety  forbade  his  com 
ing  to  their  house,  but  she  thought  he  might 
have  sent  her  some  word.  She  knew  noth 
ing  of  the  struggle  he  was  going  through 
nor  of  his  heroic  resolution ;  but  she  be 
lieved  she  had  set  a  leaven  at  work  that 
would  stir  his  manhood  if  she  had  not  been 
mistaken  in  believing  he  was  still  suscepti 
ble  to  the  redeeming  influence  of  shame. 
Thinking  of  him  thus,  she  felt  hopeful  and 
could  wait. 

When  she  contemplated  at  home  the 
awful  crime  she  believed — almost  knew — 
had  been  committed  by  those  nearest  her 
in  ties  of  co'nsanguinity,  she  experienced  a 
horror  and  infinite  humiliation  that  no  phi 
losophy  she  could  appeal  to  would  relieve. 
To  make  her  distress  the  harder  to  bear, 
she  had  to  bear  it  alone  and  in  secret ;  there 
was  none  with  whom  she  could  share  her 
thoughts — to  whom  she  might  have  confided 
her  agonies  and  tears. 

One  day  she  heard  one  of  her  brothers 
and  Harris  speaking  of  some  one  who  had 
"gone  away."  These  two  words  were  all 
she  had  clearly  caught.  She  conjectured  it 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.  177 

was  George,  and  wondered  he  had  not  at 
least  sent  her  a  word  of  farewell.  A  day 
or  two  later  she  heard  Harris  tell  her 
brother  that  George  was  "working  at  Uncle 
Andy's;"  and  he  added  something  she  did 
not  hear.  There  was  comfort  in  this ;  for 
while  she  knew  nothing  of  his  plans,  it 
showed  he  was  in  the  right  path.  She  was 
a  little  afraid,  however,  that  those  who  had 
reason  to  fear  him  might  not  leave  him  un-> 

disturbed. 

*     *     * 

Loraine  Esmond,  though  favored  with 
few  opportunities  of  education,  had  ac 
quired  more  than  most  girls  do  under  like 
disadvantages.  The  most  symmetrical  body 
may  be  dwarfed  or  deformed  by  unfavor 
able  conditions,  but  the  mind  that  is  nobly 
born  reaches  out  through  penury  or  mis 
fortune  and  puts  aside  obstacles  of  every 
nature  to  grasp  the  sustenance  required  to 
nourish  it  for  its  divine  mission ;  and  it  finds 
light,  inspiration  and  knowledge  where 
grosser  spirits  only  grope  in  darkness  and 
sink  under  the  wretchedness  of  their  condi 
tion. 


178  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

This  family  had  not  always  been  given 
over  to  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the  devil. 
There  were  some  books  about  the  old  house, 
some  of  them  of  the  few  great  books  which 
have  embodied  the  most  beautiful  thoughts 
and  the  noblest  truths  that  have  enriched 
human  literature.  These  she  had  assimi 
lated  as  her  natural  food  and  they  had  filled 
her  soul  with  beauty  and  her  mind  with 
thoughts  that  lifted  her  far  above  the  degra 
dation  of  her  home.  With  the  same  intui 
tive  reaching  out  for  light  she  absorbed  the 
intelligence  brought  by  the  newspapers  and 
was  well  informed  of  the  world's  current 
events.  So  that,  indeed,  in  her  circle  there 
were  but  few  with  better  and  happier  op 
portunities  who  were  her  equal  in  mental 
elevation,  unconscious  of  it  as  she  was  her 
self. 

Of  late,  in  utter  weariness  of  soul,  she 
had  often  wished  for  the  wings  of  a  dove 
that  she  might  fly  away  and  be  at  rest. 
Daily  tasks  are  hard  and  existence  is  cheer 
less  when  there  is  lacking  the  daily  inspira 
tion  of  joy  or  content;  and  yet  it  is  these 
angels  of  necessity  that  in  such  times  of 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  179 

stress  deliver  our  sanity  from  wreck.  She 
often  felt  as  if  the  wearisome,  monotonous, 
ever  repeated  tasks  of  the  house  were  more 
than  she  could  bear ;  yet  she  did  bear  them, 
and  hard  as  they  were,  they  diverted  her 
thoughts  into  healthier  channels  and  re 
lieved  the  strain  that  must  otherwise  have 
slain  her. 

One  Saturday  night  Harry  came  home 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  bringing  two 
men  with  him.  She  heard  them  talking  and 
thought  one  of  the  voices  was  familiar ;  the 
other  she  could  not  recognize.  Next  morn 
ing  when  Harry  came  to  the  kitchen,  she 
asked  him  who  the  visitors  were.  He  re 
plied  "Abe  and  a  Mr.  St.  George."  At  the 
instant  a  frightful  thought  flashed  into  her 
mind  and  made  her  feel  faint:  Was  this 
another  victim  lured  to  the  slaughter  for  his 
money?  But  she  asked:  •  "Whc  is  Mr.  St. 
George?" 

"He  is  a  gentleman  from  Baltimore,  a 
friend  of  Abe's  who  came  over  to  the  races 
with  him.  As  I  wanted  to  talk  with  Abe, 
and  St.  George  seemed  such  a  nice  fellow, 


180          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

I  invited  him  to  come  down  and  stay  over 
Sunday.  You  will  like  him." 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  indifferently ;  but  her 
first  fear  was  dissipated. 

At  breakfast  Harry  introduced  Mr.  St. 
George  to  his  mother  and  sister.  Keifer 
needed  no  introduction.  Loraine,  without 
appearing  to,  observed  Mr.  St.  George  very 
keenly,  and  her  impressions  confirmed  her 
brother's  words.  St.  George  on  his  part 
seemed  attracted  by  the  girl,  and  as  much 
as  was  perfectly  well-bred  allowed  her  to 
see  his  respectful  admiration.  She  noticed 
Keifer  addressed  him  sometimes  familiarly 
as  "Al."  and  saw  that  he  was  not  a  lamb 
brought  to  the  slaughter  but  probably  one 
who  was  to  be  drawn  into  participation  in 
their  life  of  lawlessness  and  crime.  This 
thought  was  scarcely  less  terrible  to  her 
than  the  other;  for  when  she  looked  into 
his  handsome,  pleasant  face,  his  clear  eye 
and  open  brow,  and  felt  the  influence  of  his 
gracious  manners,  she  felt  what  a  pity  it 
would  be  that  such  a  man  should  be  brought 
down  to  such  a  life. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THB  ELM.          181 

During  the  morning  St.  George  accom 
panied  Harry  and  Keifer  in  their  walks 
about  the  place  and  Loraine  saw  him  again 
only  at  the  midday  dinner.  He  was  un 
mistakably  interested  in  her  and  would  have 
been  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  converse 
with  her.  He  thought  he  saw  shame  and 
distress  written  in  the  pale  face  and  down 
cast  eyes,  and  knowing  what  he  did  of  her 
surroundings  thought  he  understood  the 
cause  of  it,  and  was  moved  by  a  profound 
pity  for  one  who  with  such  a  lovely  person 
ality  was  worse  than  an  alien  in  her  own 
home.  Loraine  perceived  something  of  St. 
George's  sense  of  her  position  and  under 
happier  conditions  she  would  have  liked  to 
talk  to  him.  But  she  avoided  any  conversa 
tion.  Her  heart  was  too  full ;  she  could 
not  trust  herself  to  speak  with  a  stranger 
whose  sympathy  was  so  plainly  expressed  in 
eye  and  manner.  She  only  prayed  that  for 
his  own  sake  she  might  never  see  him  again 
in  that  place. 

After  dinner,  St.  George  excusing  him 
self  to  Harry  and  Keifer,  who  he  knew 
wanted  an  opportunity  for  some  talk  of 


182          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

their  own,  walked  down  to  the  river  and 
strolling  along  its  bank  smoked  his  cigar 
and  admired  the  magnificent  proportions  of 
the  great  elm.  His  own  thoughts  were 
painful;  for  he  saw  that  this  home  of  law 
lessness  hid  a  direr  tragedy  than  the  one 
he  had  come  to  track ;  and  for  an  instant  he 
got  a  wider  view  than  he  had  ever  had  be 
fore  of  the  awful  desolation  wrought  by 
crime,  devouring  the  lives  not  alone  of  its 
immediate  victims  but  of  other  innocent  vic 
tims  near  and  far. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  St. 
George's  team  was  brought  out  and  he  and 
Keifer  entered,  and  making  their  adieus, 
drove  down  the  lane.  Loraine  was  stand 
ing  at  an  open  window.  St.  George  seeing 
her,  bowed  and  lifted  his  hat,  and  bowing 
in  return  she  withdrew  to  spend  the  rest 
of  the  day  in  her  room. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.          183 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  SOCIAL,  CALL. 

The   fattest   hog  in   Epicurus'   sty. 

— Mason. 
When    shall    we    three    meet    again? 

— Macbeth. 

In  passing  down  to  the  Esmond  place 
Saturday  night,  Esmond  and  his  friends 
had  gone  down  the  west  side  of  the  river. 
On  the  return  of  St.  George  and  Keifer 
Sunday  afternoon,  they  drove  through  the 
river  and  passed  up  through  the  pretty  vil 
lage  of  Riverside,  lying  on  a  gentle  slope 
running  back  from  river  to  hill.  This  was 
the  nearest  route  and  here  they  would  strike 
the  Fairmont  pike,  a  stoned  and  graded  road 
running  their  way.  Besides,  Keifer  wanted 
to  speak  a  moment  to  the  landlord  of  the 
Blue  Boar;  and  this  fitted  in  with  St. 
George's  wishes,  for  Bernard  had  told  him 
about  this  gentleman  and  he  felt  some 
solicitude  to  have  a  look  at  him. 


184          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

They  drove  up  to  the  pavement  and  Blue 
came  out. 

"Why,  hello,  Abe,  is  that  you?"  was  his 
greeting. 

"What  is  left  of  me,"  responded  Keifer. 
'  'Jone,'  I  want  you  to  know  a  friend  of 
mine,  Mr.  St.  George,  of  Baltimore.  Al., 
this  is  Mr.  Blue,  the  owner  of  that  big  hog 
you  see  up  there,"  pointing  to  the  sign  and 
laughing. 

St.  George  looked  up  at  the  picture  of 
the  beast.  "Where  did  you  get  the  color?" 
and  he  looked  smilingly  at  Blue. 

"O,"  said  Jonas,  "he  used  to  be  black, 
but  hard  times  made  him  blue — same  as  the 
landlord."  It  was  Blue's  turn  to  laugh  now 
at  his  witticism  and  the  others  joined  him 
in  his  merriment. 

"Will  you  'light,  gentlemen?"  asked  the 
publican. 

"No;"  returned  Keifer,  "we  must  be  get 
ting  on;  we  have  a  livery  team  that  we 
promised  to  get  home  this  evening.  We 
have  been  down  spending  the  Sunday  with 
Harry." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          185 

Blue  looked  at  St.  George  with  interest. 

"Came  down  with  him  last  night  from 
Sardis  races.  Anything  new?" 

"No;  same  old  story  except  people  are 
getting  worked  up  a  little  over  the  election." 

"How  is  it  going  ?"  asked  Keifer. 

"O,  we're  all  for  Breckenridge  and  Lane 
down  here,  except  a  few  Black  Republicans 
who  swear  they  are  going  to  vote  for  Abe 
Lincoln.  They'd  better  try  it  Did  you 
have  any  luck  at  Sardis?" 

"Didn't  bet.  You  know  I  never  do — 
when  I  haven't  the  money.  Harry  won 
$150  and  my  friend  here  raked  in  a  twenty." 
Blue  took  another  look  at  St.  George. 
"That's  just  Harry's  luck,"  he  said. 

"And  Lynn  lost  $10,"  added  Keifer. 

"Just  his  luck,  too,"  said  Blue.  "All  he 
had,  I'd  bet." 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you  is  Clarks 
burg?"  asked  Keifer,  gathering  up  the 
reins. 

"No,  don't  know  of  anything.  I  may  be 
up  there-  some  day  this  week." 

"Come  and  see  me,"  said  Keifer.  "I'm 
staying  at  the  Dent." 


186          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"I  will." 

They  drove  away,  Keifer  nodding  good 
bye,  St.  George  politely  lifting  his  hat. 

This  was  a  man  St.  George  was  glad  to 
get  a  look  at  and  he  had  scrutinized 
him  keenly  without  seeming  to  do  so. 

On  the  dozen  miles  drive  that  followed 
Keifer  talked  volubly  and  with  apparent 
unreserve;  yet  St.  George  could  perceive  a 
certain  wariness  he  had  not  observed  in 
him  at  any  time  before.  St.  George  took 
pains  to  respond  fully  to  Keifer's  effusive 
ness  and  to  appear  unconscious  that  any 
veil,  even  the  gauziest,  had  been  drawn  be 
tween  them.  In  his  report  to  Bernard, 
written  that  night,  he  said : 

"I  went  with  Esmond's  friend  Keifer  to 
the  races  at  Sardis,  Saturday.  Esmond 
was  there  and  on  a  very  cordial  invitation 
went  home  with  him  and  spent  the  greater 
part  of  to-day  looking  around  their  place. 
I  am  not  able  to  report  much  progress. 
Esmond  is  no  ordinary  man.  He  knows 
how  to  hold  people  off  as  well  as  how  to 
attract  them.  I  have  no  idea  he  suspected 
my  business,  but  I  think  he  put  Keifer  on 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          187 

his  guard.  Esmond  probably  acquainted 
him  with  reasons  he  did  not  know  'of  be 
fore  for  being  extra  careful.  Esmond  has 
a  sister  who  seems  a  very  superior  girl, 
clearly  out  of  sympathy  with  the  rest  of 
the  family,  and  unless  I  greatly  mistake 
she  is  in  keen  distress  over  some  recent 
occurrence,  the  nature  of  which  you  can 
guess.  She  avoided  me  and  would  not 
give  me  a  chance  to  talk  with  her.  This 
was  the  only  sign  I  could  discover  of  any 
thing  out  of  the  ordinary.  Ori  the  return 
we  stopped  a  few  minutes  at  the  Blue  Boar 
and  I  had  a  good  look  at  the  landlord. 
There  is  something  sinister  about  the  man 
and  your  suspicion  is  justified  "" 


188          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ON  GUARD. 

Beware  the  Ides  of  March. 

— Julius  Caeaar. 

The  Chief  of  the  Esmond  band  felt  that 
the  disappearance  of  a  man  of  as  much 
consequence  as  McKinney,  carrying  as 
much  money  as  he  did  and  having  exten 
sive  connections  at  home,  could  not  but 
be  followed  by  a  determined  effort  to  un 
earth  those  who  had  made  way  with  him. 
It  was  no  time  to  be  careless  or  take  the 
risk  of  fresh  exploits.  Before  engaging  in 
new  enterprises,  it  was  prudent  to  be  sure 
this  inquiry  had  blown  over.  He  accord 
ingly  warned  his  followers  to  "lay  low," 
as  Uncle  Remus  would  put  it,  to  be  dis 
creet  and  on  their  guard. 

A  danger  that  disturbed  Esmond  which 
must  be  carefully  watched  was  the  disclo 
sures  that  appeared  to  have  been  made  by 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  189 

young  Holmes  to  his  father.  The  exact 
extent  of  these  could  not  be  known.  It 
did  not  yet  appear  whether  George  had 
told  more  or  had  but  given  hints  that  had 
been  repeated.  It  was  clear  that  he  must 
not  be  taken  into  further  confidence  till 
it  could  be  ascertained  how  far  he  had 
turned  traitor,  whether  he  could  be  ulti 
mately  restored  to  confidence  or  whether 
they  must  protect  themselves  against  fur 
ther  revelations  by  sterner  measures.  If 
Holmes  was  disposed  to  betray  them,  this 
quest  for  McKinney — if  pushed  energet 
ically  and  openly;  especially  if  a  reward 
were  offered  or  immunity  promised  any 
one  disclosing  the  secrets  of  the  gang — 
would  afford  the  opportunity  for  him  to 
make  his  renunciation  of  them  effective. 
It  was  necessary  to  keep  him  under  sur 
veillance  for  a  time  the  better  to  judge 
whether  he  had  any  such  purpose.  The 
fact  that  he  had  left  the  village  and  gone  to 
work  indicated  some  new  purpose  on  his 
part,  but  as  the  watch  set  over  his  move- 
.ments  reported  that  he  stayed  right  on  his 
uncle's  farm  and  apparently  s&w  no 


190  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

strangers,  and  as  there  were  no  further  re 
ports  of  his  outgivings,  this  feeling  was 
somewhat  relieved.  Holmes  was  keeping 
quiet  like  the  others. 

It  was  in  line  with  this  policy  that  Es 
mond  had  given  a  hint  to  Keifer  that  there 
were  present  reasons  for  extra  caution ; 
that  a  detective  had  been  in  the  neighbor 
hood  not  long  before  on  the  track  of  a 
man  who  was  supposed  to  have  disap 
peared  in  that  vicinity  (Keifer  guessed 
what  this  might  mean),  and  it  was  well  to 
be  more  than  ordinarily  careful  till  the  mat 
ter  had  "blowed  over." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.          191 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


A  FLANK  MOVEMENT. 

To  leave  this  keen  encounter  of  our  wits. 

— Richard  III. 


Less  than  a  week  after  his  report,  St. 
George  received  a  note  from  Bernard  sug 
gesting  that  he  come  to  Pittsburgh  for  a 
consultation.  Bernard,  the  reader  will  have 
divined,  was  not  the  real  name  of  the  gen 
tleman  who  had  asked  for  a  letter  at  the 
Riverside  postoffice,  nor  was  St.  George 
the  real  name  of  his  correspondent;  for 
one  was  the  head  of  the  Duquesne  Detect 
ive  Bureau,  and  the  other  his  auxiliary ; 
but  these  names  will  do  for  the  purpose  of 
this  history. 

Packing  his  traveling  bag,  St.  George 
went  down  to  the  office  and  told  Mr. 
Walker  he  was  going  away  for  a  short 
time.  At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Walker, 
sprightly,  buxom  and  youthful  for  her 


192  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

years,  came  into  the  office  and  saw  him 
standing  bag  in  hand. 

"Why,  Mr.  St.  George,  not  going  to 
leave  us?" 

"For  a  few  days,  much  to  my  regret." 

"Well,  don't  stay  long;  because  if  you 
do,"  and  she  looked  at  him  archly,  "there 
will  be  some  disconsolate  maidens  'all  for 
lorn'  in  this  old  town." 

"You  are  a  gay  deceiver,  Mrs.  Walker, 
to  play  on  my  vanity  in  this  way.  You 
are  like  one  of  the  three  graces." 

"Which  one?" 

"Hope." 

"Let  me  see,"  she  said,  musingly,  "if  I 
remember  Hope  is  represented  as  a  young, 
good-looking  woman." 

"Yes,  but  that  is  not  the  only  resem 
blance,"  smiling  at  her  wit. 

"What  is  another?" 

"Why,  you  know,  she  'told  a  flattering 
tale.' " 

"Yes,  and  nobody  abused  her  for  doing 
it,  as  you  do  me.  Now  I  would  like  to 
ask  you  one — 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          193 

"Pardon  me;  I'm  afraid  I  shall  miss  my 
train."  The  omnibus  was  at  the  door. 

"O,  the  train  can  wait,"  she  said. 

"I  am  sorry  you're  going  to-day,  Mr.  St. 
George.  The  Riverside  band  is  to  be  here 
this  evening  and  is  going  to  serenade  'Ex 
tra  Billy,'  who  is  staying  at  Capt.  Hornor's. 
If  you  will  stay  I'll  have  them  come  around 
and  serenade  you.  St.  George  sounds  as 
well  as  'Extra  Billy,'  I  am  sure." 

"You  will  have  me  utterly  spoiled  if  I 
listen  longer  to  your  blandishments,"  he 
said,  laughing.  "Besides,  the  train  may 
get  tired  waiting  for  me,"  he  added  as  he 
walked  towards  the  'bus  and  bowed  his 
adieu. 

"Au  revoir!"  said  the  stout  landlady, 
gayly,  and  retreated  to  her  own  dominion. 


194          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MAXIMILIAN. 
A  wayfaring  man  acquainted  with  grief. — Bible. 

Ten  days  after  the  departure  of  St. 
George  from  Walker's  Hotel,  a  traveler 
on  foot,  with  his  worldly  fortune  in  a  cot 
ton  handkerchief  carried  on  his  back  by  a 
stick  over  the  shoulder,  entered  the  village 
of  Riverside  by  the  Fairmont  road.  He 
was  roughly  dressed,  and  his  attire  showed 
the  ravages  of  wear  and  tear,  the  shoes, 
especially,  approaching  the  last  stage  of 
usefulness.  They  evidently  could  not 
tramp  many  miles  more  without  com 
pletely  giving  up  the  struggle  they  had 
been  making  to  keep  sole  and  body  to 
gether.  In  these  days,  the  man  would 
have  been  called  a  "hobo."  At  that  time, 
in  that  region,  professional  tramps  were 
unknown,  and  pedestrian  travelers  infre 
quent  on  any  of  the  roads.  This  poor  fel- 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.  195 

low  was  apparently  looking  for  work;  and 
this  appearance  was  confirmed  by  himself 
when  he  came  along  by  the  blacksmith 
shop  and  stopped  to  speak  to  a  little  group 
gathered  to  watch  the  smith  shoe  a  some 
what  restless  horse.  The  blacksmith  set 
down  the  horse's  foot  as  the  man  ap 
proached.  The  manner  of  the  wayfarer  was 
deferential,  and  all  looked  at  him  as  he 
spoke,  with  a  slight  German  accent. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "can  any  of  you 
give  a  hungry  man  a  few  days'  work?" 
Receiving  no  answer,  he  continued:  "1 
have  asked  all  along  the  road  to-day  from 
Fairmont  here,  but  nobody  had  anything 
for  me  to  do.  It  must  be  bad  times  in  this 
part  of  the  country." 

Still  receiving  no  answer,  he  asked  how 
far  it  was  to  the  next  town,  and  was  told  it 
was  ten  or  twelve  miles.  He  looked  ap- 
pealingly  from  one  to  another.  "I  am  very 
tired  and  hungry,"  he  said.  "I  have  had 
nothing  to  eat  since  morning  and  hav? 
walked  a  long  road.  Have  any  of  you  an 
odd  job  I  could  do  to  earn  my  supper?" 

"What  can  you  do  ?"  asked  the  smith. 


196          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"Any  kind  of  common  work.  I  could 
blow  the  bellows  or  strike  for  you.  I 
might  shoe  a  horse  for  you,  for  I  have  taken 
care  of  horses  and  have  put  on  shoes,  and 
I  can  do  any  kind  of  farm  work." 

"What  do  you  know  about  horses?" 
asked  Jonas  Blue,  whose  horse  the  smith 
was  shoeing. 

"I  worked  among  horses  a  good  many 
years,"  the  man  replied. 

"Where?" 

"In  Cumberland,  Maryland,  at  the  Lu- 
man  House  stables.  I  was  considered  a 
good  ostler,  if  I  do  say  it." 

Blue  looked  him  over.  He  was  not  a 
promising  looking  candidate  for  favor;  but 
then  he  was  tired  and  dusty,  and  his  dilap 
idated  shoes  gave  him  a  vagabondish  look. 

"My  hostler  quit  last  night,"  remarked 
Jonas  to  the  others.  "I  have  a  mind  to 
give  this  man  a  trial. "  He  would  probably 
be  glad  to  work  for  small  wages.  Turn 
ing  to  the  traveler  he  said :  "You  see  that 
sign?"  pointing  to  the  Blue  Boar  half  a 
block  away.  The  man  nodded.  "You  go 
there  and  wait  till  I  come.  I  will  give  you 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  197 

supper,  and  we  will  see  if  I  can  find  any 
work  for  you." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Blue  came  over 
leading  his  horse,  which  he  hitched  by  the 
pavement.  "What  is  your  name?"  he  asked 
the  man,  who  was  sitting  on  the  bench,  but 
rose  as  he  approached. 

"Maximilian  Rudolph." 

"They  call  you  Max?" 

"That  is  what  Mr.  Luman  called  me." 

"Which  Luman  was  that?  I  used  to  be 
acquainted  in  Cumberland." 

"Samuel  Luman;  they  called  him  'Sam' 
because  everybody  liked  him  and  made 
free  with  him." 

Jonas'  people  had  lived  near  Blue's  Gap, 
in  Hampshire  County;  and  often  visiting 
Cumberland,  he  well  remembered  Sam 
Luman,  who  was  a  noted  fisherman  and 
who  when  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio  Railroad 
was  first  opened  to  the  Ohio  River  had, 
with  the  aid  of  William  Shriver,  of  Wheel 
ing,  another  disciple  of  Walton's,  trans 
ferred  in  the  tender  of  an  engine  a  lot  of 
Ohio  river  black  bass  to  the  waters  of  the 
Potomac,  with  such  success  in  propagation 


198  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

that  the  South  Branch  of  the  Potomac  had 
become  the  finest  bass  stream  in  the  United 
States.  The  man's  acquaintance  with  Lu- 
man  decided  Blue  to  give  him  a  job.  He 
took  him  out  on  the  back  porch,  where  were 
a  basin,  bucket  of  water,  and  a  rough  towel 
hanging  on  a  post.  "Wash  and  brush  your 
self,"  he  said,  handing  Max  a  whisk  broom. 
"After  you  have  had  supper  I  will  show  you 
the  stable." 

When  Maximilian  had  washed  and 
cleaned  himself  up  as  well  as  he  was  able, 
he  proved  to  be  a  rather  good-looking  man 
who  might  be  twenty-eight  or  might  be 
thirty-two,  with  a  Germanic  cast  of  face, 
who  had  a  somewhat  downcast,  dull  and 
listless  air. 

The  landlord  of  the  Blue  Boar  found 
that  Max  had  told  him  no  more  than  the 
truth  in  claiming  capability  in  handling 
horses.  While  he  seemed  but  a  dull  fel 
low,  taking  little  interest  in  anything 
around  him,  there  was  no  cause  for  com 
plaint  about  the  way  his  work  was  done. 
There  was  not  enough  about  the  stable  to 
keep  him  employed,  and  he  took  to  doing 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          199 

all  sorts  of  jobs  about  the  house,  of  which 
an  industrious  man  finds  no  lack — sweep 
ing,  cleaning,  looking  after  fires  as  the 
evenings  grew  cool;  doing  chores  for  the 
landlady;  so  that  he  was  more  about  the 
house  than  the  stable.  The  loungers  and 
habitues  soon  came  to  know  him.  His  oblig 
ing  ways  made  him  popular  with  them,  and 
they  would  chat  with  him  and  chaff  him, 
as  occasion  arose,  and  came  to  regard  him 
as  a  part  of  the  establishment  before  whom 
everything  might  be  said  that  did  not  preju 
dice  the  hostelry. 

For  all  his  lack  of  interest  in  his  sur 
roundings,  Max  managed  to  note  a  good 
many  little  things  that  were  said  and  done. 
After  his  work  was  done,  he  naturally  sat 
in  the  back  part  of  the  bar-room  and  dozed 
the  evening  away,  that  being  convenient 
for  both  him  and  the  landlord  in  case  any 
orders  were  to  be  given;  but  he  was  such 
a  sleepy-head,  that  when  this  happened  he 
always  had  to  be  awakened  to  receive  them. 
Thus  it  happened  that  when  the  Esmond 
visitors  were  there  at  night,  after  the  vil 
lage  loungers  had  gone,  had  they  talked 


200          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

with  their  accustomed  freedom,  Max 
might  have  picked  up  a  good  many  hints  if 
he  had  been  awake  and  had  known  what 
they  related  to.  But  in  truth  these  visitors 
seemed  to  have  put  bits  on  their  unruly 
tongues,  for  they  had  become  habitually 
wary  and  careful  what  they  said  even  in  so 
safe  a  place  as  the  Blue  Boar  bar.  They 
seemed  to  have  become  thoroughly  imbued 
with  Harry's  caution.  Max  had  more  than 
once  been  sent  on  errands  to  the  Esmond 
place,  and  these  had  been  done  with  the 
same  indifference  as  his  other  work. 

The  landlord  had  provided  him  with 
some  whole  shoes  and  made  some  other 
additions  to  his  scanty  wardrobe.  Max 
did  not  go  about  the  village  and  made  no 
acquaintances  except  in  the  course  of  his 
work;  did  not  go  to  church  on  Sundays 
and  appeared  to  care  little  about  his  ap 
pearance.  The  landlady,  seeing  he  was  a 
rather  good-looking  fellow,  rallied  him  one 
day  about  his  neglect  of  himself,  and  told 
him  he  ought  to  brush  up  a  little  and  get 
acquainted  with  the  girls.  He  replied  that 
he  had  once  had  some  experience  with  the 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          201 

gentler  sex  and  that  it  had  discouraged 
him  from  further  attempts  to  gain  their 
good  graces.  She  concluded  this  might  be 
one  of  the  reasons  for  his  despondency. 


202          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

TURNING  POLITICIAN. 

All  things  unto  all  men. — St.  Paul. 
By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 
Something  wicked  comes  this  way. 

— Macbeth. 

Well  said.   That  was  laid  on  with  a  trowel. 
—As   You   Like   It. 

The  Presidential  Election  was  coming 
on  and  the  country  began  to  be  stirred  by 
meetings  and  orators.  The  box  seats  at 
the  stores  and  shops  had  been  moved  in 
side  and  the  national  debate  that  had  been 
carried  on  outside  was  resumed  around 
the  stoves  in  the  evening  with  fresh  vigor. 
The  disappearance  of  the  cattle-buyer  and 
the  subdued  comment  on  the  villainies  of 
the  Esmonds  had  given  way  to  the  greater 
excitement  of  the  coming  election. 

A  week  or  more  before  election  some  of 
the  Clarksburg  politicians  went  to  River 
side  by  appointment  to  address  a  Demo 
cratic  meeting.  St.  George,  as  a  Baltimore 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  203 

man,  had  found  it  desirable  to  declare  his 
attitude  on  the  national  issues.  He  had 
talked  in  the  Clarksburg  hotels  freely,  and 
for  a  man  of  his  breeding  rather  loudly, 
about  what  Maryland  would  do  in  case  the 
Black  Republicans  should  elect  and  under 
take  to  inaugurate  Lincoln ;  that  Maryland 
soil  should  never  be  polluted  by  the  foot  of 
a  Yankee  invader,  and  that  he  would  go 
back  home  to  be  one  of  those  to  welcome 
the  northern  hirelings  with  bloody  hands  to 
hospitable  graves.  This  kind  of  talk  struck 
a  chord  in  harmony  with  the  dominant  note 
in  the  old  town,  and  St.  George  was  put 
up  a  notch  by  the  hot-heads  who  were  push 
ing  the  Breckenridge  campaign.  The  few 
Republicans  there  (like  Ira  Hart)  who  had 
been  outspoken  enough  to  be  recognized  as 
such,  found  it  prudent  to  be  quiet.  The 
Bell  and  Everett  people  were  mild,  like 
their  platform;  and  in  their  advocacy  'of 
"The  constitution,  the  Union  and  the  enr 
forcement  of  the  laws,"  did  not  venture  to 
affirm  that  the  laws  should  be  enforced  to 
the  point  of  "coercion"  in  case  such  en 
forcement  should  become  necessary.  "En- 


204          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

forcement"  with  them  was  a  mere  figure  of 
speech,  for  campaign  uses. 


At  one  of  the  meetings,  which  were  held 
every  few  nights,  St.  George  was  called  on, 
and  he  got  up  and  made  a  red-hot  speech 
from  the  extremest  Southern  standpoint. 
From  this  on  he  was  looked  upon  as 
one  of  the  drawing  cards  and  was  asked 
to  accompany  the  stock  speakers  to  vari 
ous  meetings  at  other  points.  This  took 
him  with  them  to  Riverside  at  the  time 
mentioned.  He  had  ridden  down  with 
John  Cassel,  the  lawyer,  and  they  put  up, 
with  the  rest,  at  the  Blue  Boar;  and  he 
was  pleasantly  greeted  by  the  landlord, 
who  recalled  his  visit  with  Keifer.  Noth 
ing  could  recommend  him  to  mine  host 
more  than  the  company  he  was  in ;  and  yet 
somehow  Jonas  Blue  was  not  sure  that  he 
quite  liked  this  Baltimore  man,  albeit  he 
was  such  a  polite  and  agreeable  gentleman. 
It  was  a  case  of  Doctor  Fell ;  he  could  not 
have  told  why,  but  he  did  not  quite  like 
him. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  205 

The  sagacity  of  nature  is  beyond  human 
finding  out.  Every  animate  creature  is 
endowed  with  enough  of  it  to  know  how 
to  protect  itself.  In  every  grade  of  animal 
life  the  instinctive  recognition  of  danger 
is  proportioned  to  the  imminence  of  it. 
Every  animal  liable  to  be  made  the  prey 
of  some  stronger,  fiercer  or  cunninger 
beast  inherits  an  instinct  that  tells  it  what 
to  fear  and  how  to  keep  out  of  harm's  way. 
Even  man,  when  he  comes  to  be  at  war 
with  the  retributive  powers  of  society — 
when  he  has  thus  put  himself  in  the  cate 
gory  of  the  lower  tribes — develops  this  ani 
mal  sagacity.  All  the  ordinary  powers  of 
apprehension,  aside  from  reason,  become 
sharpened,  until  it  seems  as  if  a  new  sense 
were  added  to  him.  The  habitual  criminal 
can  scent  an  officer  of  the  law  as  truly  as 
the  deer  scents  the  panther  lurking  in  am 
bush  at  the  lick.  Blue's  instinct  had  given 
him  warning.  He  had  sniffed  danger  in  the 
air,  but  had  not  yet  got  the  direction. 

St.  George  led  his  own  horse  to  the 
stable,  remarking  to  the  landlord  that  it 
was  a  horse  loaned  him  by  a  Clarksburg 


206          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

friend  who  set  a  high  value  on  the  animal 
and  charged  him  specially  to  see  that  it 
had  proper  care.  When  he  entered  the 
stable  the  hostler  seemed  agitated  for  a  mo 
ment  as  he  came  forward  to  take  the  horse, 
but  he  dropped  his  eyes  and  went  off  to  a 
rear  stall  in  his  usual  apathetic  manner. 
St.  George  followed  to  see  the  animal  un 
harnessed,  and  exchanged  a  few  words 
with  the  hostler  about  rubbing  down  and 
feeding.  Then  finding  nobody  was  within 
hearing  he  drew  nearer  and  a  conversation 
in  subdued  tones  followed  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  and  St.  George  walked  back  to 
the  house  and  Max  went  on  with  his  hum 
ble  duties  in  the  stable. 

At  the  meeting  after  dinner,  St.  George 
was  the  last  of  the  speakers.  He  came  out 
strong  and  was  hotly  applauded.  Harry 
Esmond's  father,  who  was  in  the  crowd 
and  recalled  St.  George's  visit,  came  for 
ward  and  renewed  the  acquaintance  and 
congratulated  him  on  his  speech.  "That's 
just  the  kind  of  talk  we  want.  I  wish  there 
was  more  like  it."  Just  then  John  Cassel 
came  up  and  shaking  hands  with  Esmond, 


THIS  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  207 

whom  he  had  long  known,  the  latter  in 
vited  the  two  to  visit  the  Big  E!m  next  day 
(Sunday)  and  have  dinner  with  him. 

Cassel  looked  inquiringly  at  St.  George, 
saying:  "I  am  inclined  to  accept  our  old 
friend's  invitation.  What  do  you  say?" 

"Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleas 
ure,"  replied  St.  George.  "I  have  been 
there  once,  and  that  makes  me  wish  to  go 
again." 

The  old  man  was  cordial  and  pressing; 
so  it  was  agreed  that  if  they  stayed  to  the 
night  meeting,  which  was  talked  of,  they 
would  remain  over  night  and  go  to  the  Elm 
the  next  forenoon. 

About  ten  next  morning,  which  proved 
to  be  warm  and  bright,  they  rode  up  the 
lane  and  dismounting  at  the  gate  were 
met  by  the  elder  Esmond  and  by  Harry, 
who  walked  down  from  the  door  to  meet 
them.  Harry  was  very  cordial  to  both  and 
made  them  feel  that  their  visit  was  no  in 
trusion.  Lot  Dyson  and  Ray  Harris  were 
standing  a  little  distance  away.  Harry 
called  them  up  and  introduced  them.  St. 
George  had  seen  these  men,  but  had  not 


208  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

been  introduced,  before.  He  had  no  diffi 
culty  in  assigning  them  their  place  in  the 
gang.  If  there  was  a  throat  to  be  cut,  cer 
tainly  Dyson  was  the  man  for  the  work. 
These  were  the  men,  he  said  to  himself, 
who  had  slain  McKinney.  These  thoughts 
flashed  through  one  corner  of  his  brain 
while  he  greeted  the  ruffians  and  chatted 
with  them  as  politely  as  if  they  had  been 
gentlemen  he  had  met  in  some  lady's 
drawing  room. 

The  horses  were  put  away  and  the  party 
walked  to  the  river  and  sat  down  under  the 
elm.  This,  as  the  most  attractive  spot 
about  the  place,  was  the  usual  resort  when 
the  weather  was  pleasant. 

St.  George  and  Cassel  admired  the  great 
tree  and  then  the  talk  turned  to  the  political 
outlook. 

Harry  confessed  that  for  his  part  he  was 
not  taking  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  the 
election.  He  had  noticed  that  no  matter 
how  great  the  crisis,  and  how  an  election 
went,  the  country  was  always  saved  and 
things  went  on  as  usual,  despite  the  lugu 
brious  predictions  of  the  politicians,  smil- 


THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM.          209 

ing  at  St.  George  and  Cassel.  His  father, 
he  said,  was  taking  enough  interest  for  both 
and  he  was  content  to  let  him  do  it. 

St.  George  expressed  himself  pretty 
strongly,  repeating  the  sentiments  ex 
pressed  in  public,  speaking  with  confidence 
in  regard  to  the  feeling  in  Baltimore,  where 
he  knew  the  people  so  well. 

Cassel's  views  were  too  well  known  to 
the  Esmonds  to  need  repeating. 

St.  George  addressed  his  conversation  to 
Harry  Esmond,  and  sought  to  draw  him 
out  and  win  his  confidence.  But  Esmond, 
while  apparently  open  and  friendly,  even 
cordial,  was  not  effusive ;  he  did  not  volun 
teer  any  talk,  nor  lead  the  way  to  new  top 
ics;  and  St.  George  was  obliged  to  admit 
to  himself  that  he  made  no  headway  and 
was  no  nearer  a  confidential  acquaintance 
than  when  he  first  met  Esmond  at  Sardis. 


210          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FROM  POLITICIAN  TO  COURTIER. 

To  know,  to  esteem,  to  love — and  then  to  part, 
Makes  up  life's  tale  to  many  a  feeling  heart. 

— Coleridge. 

While  memory  holds  a  seat 
In  this  distracted  globe — remember  thee? 

— Hamlet. 

When  they  returned  to  the  house,  Lo- 
raine  Esmond  was  on  the  lawn  taking  up 
some  geraniums  which  the  approach  of 
cold  weather  made  it  necessary  to  remove 
within  doors.  St.  George  left  the  gentle 
men  and  approached  her.  She  was  stoop 
ing  over  the  plants,  but  arose  as  he  came 
up.  A  rosy  flush  overspread  her  face  and, 
retiring,  left  her  pale,  with  the  dark  eyes 
and  lashes  darker  than  ever  by  contrast. 
He  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed  as  he  drew 
near.  "Good  morning,  Miss  Esmond,"  he 
said  with  interest  and  expectancy. 

She  extended  her  hand.  "I  am  glad  to 
see  you,  Mr.  St.  George,"  she  said  simply. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  211 

"But  not  so  glad  as  I  am  to  hear  you 
say  it,"  he  replied  as  he  pressed  her  hand 
warmly  while  his  eyes  sought  hers. 

She  colored  at  the  warmth  of  his  words. 
It  was  plain  to  him  she  had  recovered  in 
a  degree  from  the  distress  she  was  suffer 
ing  when  he  saw  her  before;  but  her  face 
in  repose  was  sad,  and  all  semblance  of 
pleasure,  he  felt,  had  to  be  forced.  Yet  he 
believed  she  was  really  pleased  to  meet  him 
again. 

"I  wish,"  he  said,  "that  we  might  be  bet 
ter  acquainted." 

"I  could  wish  the  same,"  she  replied,  "if 
circumstances  were  more  kindly ;  but  I  fear 
they  will  hardly  permit  it." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly  to  divine  if  there 
was  any  hidden  meaning  in  her  words. 
Her  eyes  dropped  under  his  scrutiny. 

"I  suppose,"  she  resumed,  "you  are  only 
a  casual  visitor  in  this  part  of  Virginia  and 
will  soon  return  to  your  Baltimore  home." 

"That  might  depend,"  he  said.  "While  I 
have  interests  and  strong  attachments 
there,  I  am  still  young  enough  to  see  the 
whole  world  before  me,  and  am  not  yet 


212  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

committed  to  any  particular  place  for  my 
life  sojourn." 

"Do  you  like  our  Western  Virginia 
hills?"  she  asked,  looking  into  his  face. 

"It  is  a  lovely  country,"  he  said  warmly, 
and  he  looked  into  her  brown  eyes  as  if  he 
meant  to  tell  her  that  its  women  were  in 
cluded  in  his  praise.  She  understood  his 
delicate  meaning  and  a  faint  flush  rose  to 
her  brow. 

"I  have  been  looking  around  Clarksburg 
in  a  leisurely  way,"  he  added,  "to  see  if  I 
could  find  investment  for  a  little  idle 
money.  I  think  this  country  has  a  future 
in  its  great  wealth  of  coal  and  timber.  I 
am  strongly  attracted  to  your  beautiful 
valley,  and  to  your  people  so  far  as  I  have 
had  opportunities  to  know  them  I  hope 
these  may  widen  and  permit  me  to  know 
them  better." 

While  he  spoke  she  looked  at  him  in  a 
dreamy  way,  hearing  his  words  and  yet  ap 
parently  not  following  them.  It  was  as  if 
her  thoughts  were  far  away,  revolving 
some  problem  that  lay  beyond  this  conver 
sation  and  these  surroundings.  When  he 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  213 

ceased,  she  came  back  to  the  present,  and 
the  look  of  sadness  and  repression  came 
into  her  face  again. 

"Will  you  pardon  my  rudeness,"  she 
said,  "but  the  dinner  hour  is  coming  on 
and  I  must  go  to  the  kitchen  and  help 
mother  about  the  dinner.  It  will  not  do 
to  let  our  guests  go  hungry,"  she  added, 
smiling  (sadly  enough,  he  thought)  as  she 
turned  to  enter  the  house. 

All  St.  George's  favorable  impressions  of 
the  girl  were  strengthened  by.  this  second 
meeting.  His  belief  that  the  shadow  of 
some  terrible  tragedy  rested  on  her  spirits 
was  also  confirmed.  He  reviewed  his  for 
mer  thoughts  and  found  nothing  to  shake 
his  belief  that  McKinney  had  met  his  death 
within  the  precincts  of  this  farm  and  that 
she  was  conscious  of  the  fact;  and  he  real 
ized  keenly  the  terrible  position  in  which 
she  was  placed.  Yet  how  could  he  ever 
hope  to  draw  from  her  anything  to  confirm 
his  surmises?  She  was  not  the  girl  to  be 
tray  a  family  secret,  even  though  the  pos 
session  of  it  did  rend  her  heart.  Suppose  he 
could  win  the  girl's  affections?  But  she 


214          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

was  not  a  woman  to  be  easily  won,  even  if 
she  were  heart-free — as  to  which  he  knew 
nothing. 

But  why  let  his  thoughts  run  into  such 
wild  vagaries?  He  was  not  here  to  win 
hearts,  but  to  break  them.  Yet  his  respect 
—his  admiration — for  this  poor  girl  was  so 
great  he  felt  as  if  he  must  withdraw  from 
a  pursuit  which  if  successful  would  put  a 
rope  around  her  brother's  neck.  His  feel 
ings  and  his  duty  were  parting  company. 
It  was  time  to  consider  whether  he  would 
abandon  the  one  path  and  take  the  other. 
For  St.  George  was  humanly  tender  in  his 
finer  feelings;  and  his  compassion  for  this 
girl  had  been  deeply  touched.  It  is  but  a 
step  from  compassion  to  love  in  the  case  of 
a  beautiful  girl,  and  he  felt  he  was  in  dan 
ger  of  opening  the  question  whether  he 
should  take  that  step.  This  would  not  do. 
He  must  remember  his  duty  and  his  busi 
ness  obligations. 

After  dinner  the  Esmonds  and  Mr.  Cas- 
sel  seemed  drawn  together  and  St.  George 
felt  free  to  saunter  by  himself  around  the 
grounds  while  smoking  his  after-dinner 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          216 

cigar.  He  threw  it  away  when  he  saw 
Loraine  come  out  into  the  lawn  at  the  front 
of  the  house.  He  walked  towards  her  and 
thought  she  did  not  seem  displeased  at  his 
approach.  The  thought  occurred  to  him 
that,  from  a  strictly  professional  point  of 
view,  it  might  not  be  without  its  usefulness 
to  allow  the  family  to  suppose  that  he  was 
attracted  by  the  daughter ;  at  the  same  time 
he  felt  ashamed  of  such  a  thought  in  her 
presence. 

"Miss  Esmond,"  he  said  politely,  "I  do 
not  know  when,  if  ever,  it  will  be  my  good 
fortune  to  visit  your  home  again.  Let  me 
make  the  most  of  the  friendly  fate  that 
finds  me  here  to-day.  May  I  not  have  the 
pleasure  of  a  stroll  by  the  river  with  you 
before  I  go?" 

"I  am  glad  to  do  anything  you  think  will 
give  you  pleasure,"  she  said,  "but  I  fear 
you  will  find  me  dull  company." 

They  walked  through  the  gate  and  down 
to  the  elm,  strolled  some  distance  along  the 
path,  up  the  river  and  down  again  beyond 
the  elm  to  a  group  of  sycamores  that  sent 
their  fantastic  roots  down  to  the  water's 


216  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

edge,  then  back  to  the  elm  once  more,  where 
they  stood,  musing  more  than  talking,  and 
wrapped  in  dreamy  revery  inspired  by  the 
loveliness  around  them.  The  frosts  had 
done  their  work.  The  -woods  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river  turned  their  garments  of 
russet  and  gold  to  the  afternoon  sun,  and 
brown  leaves  rustled  under  their  feet  as 
they  walked.  The  leafage  of  the  elm,  as  if 
in  its  might  it  defied  even  the  forces  of 
nature,  was  still  green,  with  only  a  delicate 
striping  of  gold  around  the  serrated  edges. 
All  the  world  around  them  was  crowned 
with  the  diadem  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
the  seasons,  and  such  natures  as  endowed 
this  pair  could  not  but  feel  the  inexpressible 
charm  of  earth  and  sky. 

They  seated  themselves  on  the  rough 
bench  under  the  elm. 

"I  have  been  admiring  this  great  elm/' 
said  St.  George,  "as  one  of  the  things  I  have 
found  here  to  admire,  and  I  cannot  but 
think  what  a  lovely  home  might  be  made  in 
this  grand  presence  were  other  conditions 
of  life  and  fortune  propitious." 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.          217 

"This  elm,"  said  Loraine,  "is  a  friend  to 
whom  I  often  come  for  the  sense  of  pro 
tection  and  companionship  it  gives  me.  I 
lead  a  lonely  life  here,  as  you  seem  to  have 
perceived,  and  part  of  the  comfort  I  find  is 
in  communion  with  the  natural  objects 
around  me.  I  often,  when  the  weather  is 
fine,  spend  the  afternoon  on  this  rough 
bench.  Sometimes  I  bring  a  book.  But 
books  do  not  appeal  to  one  among  the 
trees,  or  by  the  river,  or  under  the  open 
sky.  The  voices  of  nature  will  not  be 
silenced  by  books.  The  ripple  of  the  river, 
the  songs  of  birds,  the  sighing  of  the  for 
est,  the  chirp  of  the  crickets  in  the  grass — 
these  all  distract  the  thoughts  and  steal 
away  the  attention ;  and  one  closes  the 
book  for  that  delightful  idleness  of  mind 
that  must  belong  to  the  creatures  of  earth 
.  and  air  which  have  no  mind,  which  live  on 
nature's  bounty  and  enjoy  the  solace  of  her 
peace." 

The  girl  blushed  lest  she  had  been  led 
by  her  feelings  to  say  more  than  was  be 
coming. 


218          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

St.  George  did  not  observe  this.  He  was 
deep  in  thought — in  admiration,  it  might 
be — either  for  the  speaker  or  for  her 
thoughts,  or  both. 

"Books  are  exacting  masters,"  he  said. 
"They  require  retirement  and  compel  us  to 
think;  and  to  do  that  we  must  shut  out 
this  more  delightful  world  that  appeals  to 
the  senses  and  to  the  imagination. 

"Why  cannot  we  poor  mortals,"  he  went 
on,  "live  the  ideal  life  that  nature  prepares 
for  her  other  creatures?  Why  must  we 
alone  of  all  her  children  be  compelled  to 
think  and  scheme,  and  to  grind  each 
other's  bones,  that  we  may  subsist;  and  by 
our  own  depravity — if  I  may  use  so  strong 
a  word  as  describing  the  condition  in  which 
we  are  set  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  ani 
mate  world — make  life  a  hideous  thing, 
when  it  seems  intended  to  be  a  dream  filled 
with  music  and  enchantment  and  the  many 
delights  to  which  our  faculties  are  at 
tuned?" 

Loraine  drew  a  sigh.  "You  have  given 
expression,"  she  said,  "to  thoughts  that 
have  often  weighed  on  my  spirits.  When 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.          219 

the  natural  world,  in  which  man  has  no 
part,  is  painted  in  such  delightful  colors, 
why  is  it  that  all  this  paradise  must  be 
turned  into  desolation  by  human  frailty  and 
wrong  ?" 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  shadow  of  the  primal 
curse." 

"If  this  is  part  of  the  divine  plan,"  she 
said,  "it  seems  a  cruel  one.  But  then  our 
mortal  vision  reaches  but  a  little  way.  We 
must  believe  there  is  beneficence  beyond  it 
all  and  that  the  evil  we  see,  and  which 
seems  so  monstrous  to  our  apprehension, 
is  only  a  necessary  shadow  of  infinite  love 
and  compassion." 

St.  George  brought  the  conversation 
around  into  more  cheerful  and  common 
place  channels,  and  they  lingered  yet  an 
hour  or  two  longer  about  the  elm  and 
along  the  grassy  margin  of  the  river. 


"Miss  Esmond,"  St.  George  said,  as  they 
walked  up  the  lane,  "if  I  should  not  have 
the  happiness  ever  to  see  you  again,  you 
have  given  me  an  hour  this  afternoon 


220          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

which  will  always  hold  the  first  place 
among  the  cherished  recollections  of  my 
life." 

"I  do  not  like,"  she  replied,  "to  speak  of 
never  meeting  again.  The  world  is  not  so 
wide  that  people  who  like  to  be  friends 
should  not  be  able  at  some  part  of  their 
journey  to  meet  again.  I  am  not  without 
hope  that  in  brighter  hours,  in  some  other 
place,  under  kinder  fortunes,  we  may  again 
see  each  other.  I  have  few  friends  and 
none  whom  on  so  short  acquaintance  I 
should  be  so  sorry  to  lose  sight  of  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  impulse  to  tell 
her  how  much  he  had  been  drawn  to  her — 
perhaps  to  tell  her  more — but  her  words 
had  not  evoked  the  warmth  in  her  face  he 
had  expected  to  see  bear  them  company. 
She  was  speaking  from  no  warmer  feeling 
than  esteem  and  on  that  ground  he  met  her 
and  assured  her,  in  most  winning  tones 
and  accents,  that  no  poor  words  of  his 
could  express  the  warm  and  respectful 
esteem  she  had  inspired  in  him  and  what  a 
privilege  he  would  regard  it  to  be  held  in 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          221 

her  remembrance  as  worthy  of  her  respect 
and  friendship. 

She  was  touched  by  the  delicacy  of  his 
speech  and  showed  it  in  the  faint  color  that 
suffused  her  face.  Her  eyes  filled,  and  she 
turned  away  to  conceal  the  emotion  she 
could  not  subdue.  When  the  heart  is  sore, 
tears  lie  near  the  surface.  A  moment  later 
she  turned  to  him  and  in  a  low  voice  of  ex 
quisite  feeling  and  modulation  thanked  him 
for  his  words,  which  she  assured  him  would 
never  be  forgotten. 

Before  he  left  her  she  said  to  him :  "We 
have  met  but  twice,  and  yet  it  seems  as  if  I 
had  known  you  a  long  time.  Perhaps  this 
is  because  I  see  you  understand  me  at  once 
better  than  others  have  in  years;  and  it  is 
this  mutual  perception,  coming  like  a  flash 
of  light,  that  makes  our  acquaintance  seem 
so  ripe." 

"I  confess,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  had  the 
same  feeling.  I  have  seen  that  you  are 
wearing  the  crown  of  some  terrible  sorrow, 
and  I  would  give  years  of  my  life " 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  frightened  look 
of  appeal  in  her  deep  brown  eyes.  "O !" 


222          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

she  said,  "do  not  say  such  things.  I  can 
not — I  dare  not — listen  to  them.  I  must 
leave  you  now,"  she  added,  "and  if  I  do  not 
see  you  again  before  you  go,  bear  me  in 
your  kindly  remembrance." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  with  a  look  he 
never  forgot.  It  was  appeal,  gratitude — al 
most  love — concentrated  in  one  thrilling 
glance. 

"As  if  I  could  ever  forget  you !"  he  said 
with  deep  emotion,  as  he  bowed  low  over 
the  hand  he  pressed  with  almost  a  lover's 
warmth. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          223 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

INTERVIEW  WITH  THE  OLD  WAGON  MAKER. 

I  say  the   tale  as   'twas  said  to  me. 

— Scott. 

One  day,  some  time  after  the  election, 
Jacob  Holmes,  the  wagon  maker,  received 
a  letter  from  Clarksburg  addressed  in  an 
unknown  hand.  It  was  unusual  for  him  to 
get  letters  from  strangers;  and  he  pon 
dered  over  the  envelope  as  he  walked 
home,  postponing  the  satisfaction  of  his 
curiosity  and  indulging  all  possible  conjec 
tures  before  opening  the  missive.  Arrived 
at  his, shop,  he  sat  down  on  his  work  bench, 
tore  open  the  perplexing  envelope  and  read : 

"You  may  recall  having  met  in  August, 
in  the  stable  yard  of  the  Busy  Bee  Hotel,  a 
man  who  was  in  search  of  Thomas  McKin- 
ney,  of  Uniontown.  I  want  to  talk  with 
you  about  that  and  related  matters,  and  I 
think  the  meeting  may  be  as  much  to  your 
advantage  as  mine.  It  is  not  desirable  for 


224          THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

me  to  call  on  you  in  Riverside,  but  if  you 
will  come  to  Clarksburg  and  inquire  for 
me  at  Walker's  Hotel,  I  will  gladly  pay  all 
the  expenses  of  the  trip  and  compensate 
you  for  your  time.  Ask  for 

"St.  George. 

"Do  not  mention,  even  to  your  own  fam 
ily,  the  nature  of  this  communication  or 
the  purpose  of  your  trip.  I  would  like  you 
to  come,  if  at  all,  inside  of  three  days,  as  I 
may  be  called  away." 

"I  will  go  tomorrow,"  thought  Holmes, 
after  turning  the  letter  over  in  his  mind  a 
few  minutes.  "The  only  time  to  do  a  thing 
is  when  you  can."  ^Besides,  the  letter  had 
piqued  his  curiosity. 

Before  the  midday  hour  the  following 
day  Mr.  Holmes  rode  up  to  the  Walker 
House  and,  requesting  to  have  his  horse 
put  up,  walked  up  to  the  office  desk  and 
asked  Mr.  Walker,  who  knew  him,  if  a  Mr. 
St.  George  was  staying  there. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Walker,  shaking 
hands  with  the  old  man,  "and  I  think  he  is 
in  his  room.  Perhaps  you  had  best  go  up. 
I  will  show  you  the  way." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          225 

They  went  up  to  the  door,  which  was 
standing  open. 

"Mr.  St.  George,"  said  the  landlord, 
"here  is  Mr.  Holmes,  of  Riverside,  to  see 
you.  I  hear,"  he  added  laughingly,  "that 
your  speech  down  there  captured  every 
body,  and  I  suppose  this  is  one  of  your  cap 
tives." 

St.  George  shook  hands  cordially  with 
the  old  wagon  maker  and  gave  him  a  chair. 

"Mr.  Holmes,"  he  began,  after  a  pause, 
•"I  am  told  that  you  probably  know  a  good 
deal  of  the  people  about  Riverside  who,  as 
1  believe,  made  way  with  Thomas  McKin- 
ney  last  June.  I  want  to  be  entirely  frank 
with  you  and  would  like  you  to  be  equally 
open  with  me.  I  will  tell  you  some  things 
that  must  not  be  known  to  any  one  else 
and  hope  you  will  tell  me  some  that  shall 
also  be  sacredly  confidential.  Are  you  will 
ing  to  meet  me  on  this  ground?" 

"I  am,"  said  Holmes,  "trusting  you  as  a 
gentleman  and  man  of  honor." 

St.  George :  "Your  trust  will  not  be  mis 
placed.  I  am  a  detective  from  Pittsburgh, 
as  was  Mr.  Bernard,  whom  you  met.  I 


226          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

am  trying  from  this  base  of  operations  to 
get  on  the  trail  of  the  men  who  I  feel  sure 
are  chargeable  with  McKinney's  death  and 
who  got  his  money.  I  have  visited  River 
side  and  the  Esmond  farm  twice  under  cir 
cumstances  very  favorable  for  giving  me 
the  confidence  of  Harry  Esmond  and  his 
associates;  but  I  find  them  keenly  on  their 
guard,  and  up  to  this  time  cannot  see  that 
I  have  made  any  progress  towards  the  dis 
covery  I  seek.  You  have  lived  in  Riverside 
some  years;  you  know  these  people  by 
name,  by  reputation  and,  I  understand,  per 
sonally.  I  have  heard  that  a  son  of  yours 
is  exposed  to  danger  from  them.  Perhaps 
it  may  be  your  desire,  as  it  is  mine,  to 
bring  these  villains  to  justice.  If  it  is,  can 
you  tell  me  anything  about  them  that  will 
help  us?" 

Holmes :  "I  can  tell  you  a  good  deal 
about  them"  (dropping  his  voice  cautious 
ly).  "Whether  I  could  tell  you  anything 
that  would  help  you  in  this  present  search 
is  another  matter.  Are  we  safe  here  from 
being  overheard?  Is  the  next  room  occu- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  227 

pied  ?"  Mr.  Holmes  had  grown  to  be  care 
ful  when  talking  of  these  matters. 

St.  George:  "The  next  room  is  empty 
and  locked  up,"  rising  and  closing  the  door. 
"We  can  talk  here  in  complete  security." 

Nevertheless,  Jacob  Holmes,  in  all  he  had 
to  say  in  the  conversation  that  followed, 
spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  sometimes  little 
above  a  whisper.  It  was  a  habit  of  speech 
he  had  acquired. 

St.  George:  "I  do  not  ask  you  to  tell 
me  anything  about  your  son's  connection 
with  these  people  further  than  it  may  serve 
the  purpose  before  us." 

Holmes :  "I  have  no  objection  to  tell  you 
in  confidence  anything  you  want  to  know. 
My  son,  when  we  came  here  from  Pennsyl- 
vany,  was  a  lad  scarcely  of  age.  He  fell  in 
with  these  Esmonds  and  was  a  good  deal 
at  their  house ;  sometimes  worked  for  them 
about  the  farm.  I  believe  he  is  engaged  to 
the  youngest  girl — has  been  for  a  long 
time." 

St.  George  started.  The  other  did  not 
notice  it. 


228          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"She  has  been  trying  to  get  him  to  break 
off  with  them,  and  they,  noticing  he  is  cool 
and  not  knowing  the  reason,  are  afraid  he 
will  tell  what  he  knows  about  them.  He  is 
afraid  they  intend  to  kill  him  for  their  own 
safety,  and  I'm  afraid  of  it,  too.  They  have 
not  taken  him  into  their  confidence  for  near 
a  year.  He  has  been  going  to  the  house 
to  see  the  girl,  but  has  lately  heard  things 
that  show  him  it  is  dangerous  for  him  to 
go  there." 

St.  George:     "Where  is  he  now?" 

Holmes:  "Working  on  the  farm  of  one 
of  his  uncles  a  few  miles  from  Riverside." 

St.  George:  "Then  he  knows  nothing  of 
this  taking  off  of  McKinney?" 

Holmes :  "Nothing  whatever.  I  talked 
with  him  about  it  after  I  met  Mr.  Bernard. 
He  was  surprised,  but  he  said  he  had  no 
doubt  the  man  was  killed  up  on  the  hill 
about  Lot  Dyson's  and  the  body  hid  some 
where  about  the  farm." 

St.  George :    "Would  they  bury  it  ?" 

Holmes:  "That  would  be  too  much 
work,  and  the  fresh  earth  might  be  discov 
ered." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  229 

St.  George:  "Would  they  not  throw  it 
into  the  river?" 

Holmes:  "They  might,  but  I  think  not 
at  that  season  of  the  year.  If  there  had 
been  a  fresh  in  the  river,  they  might,  ex 
pecting  it  would  be  carried  away.  There  is 
an  old  well  in  a  thicket  on  the  hill  not  far 
from  Lot  Dyson's,  where  a  house  once 
stood.  They  might  throw  the  body  in  that. 
When  George  said  he  had  no  doubt  they 
had  killed  him  up  there  on  the  hill,  he  said, 
'and  maybe  throwed  him  in  the  old  well.'  I 
expect  that  is  the  well  he  meant." 

St.  George:  "Could  you  point  out  the 
location  of  that  well  ?" 

Holmes :  "No ;  I  have  never  seen  it.  I 
have  just  heard  there  is  one  there,  and  I 
know  in  the  neighborhood  of  where  it  is. 
It  would  be  dangerous  to  go  tnere  to  look 
for  it  in  daytime." 

St.  George:  "Could  it  be  found  at 
night?" 

Holmes:  "I  don't  think  so.  After  the 
robbery  of  McKee's  store  I  went  over 
there  with  my  team  for  a  load  of  fodder, 
which  was  in  a  field  that  borders  on  this 


230          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

thicket,  and  we  found  some  of  the  stolen 
goods  in  one  of  the  fodder-shocks  that  we 
pulled  down.  There's  two  or  three  acres 
of  the  thicket,  which  is  very  densely  grown 
with  briers  and  bushes;  and  it  is  some 
where  in  this  that  this  well  is:  but  I  don't 
know  what  part." 

St.  George:  "You  spoke  of  the  hill 
where  Lot  Dyson  lives.  Is  that  in  the  vicin 
ity  of  this  thicket?" 

Holmes:  "Yes;  Dyson's  house  is  but  a 
few  hundred  yards  away." 

St.  George:  "I  met  Dyson  at  Esmonds' 
the  day  after  the  speaking  at  Riverside. 
Would  you  think  he  is  the  man  to  do  this 
deed?" 

Holmes:  "I  think  so;  he  would  do  any 
thing  for  money. 

"Then  there  is  another  hiding  place  that 
I  know  of  on  that  farm  where  a  body  might 
be  hid  for  a  time.  It  is  an  old  coal-bank 
down  by  the  river.  If  they  intended  to  put 
the  body  in  the  river,  they  would  likely  hide 
it  in  this  coal-bank  and  then  bring  it  out 
when  the  river  was  high  and  throw  it  in,  to 
be  carried  away." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          231 

St.  George:  "Would  not  the  body  sink 
and  then  come  to  the  surface  later?" 

Holmes :  "Yes,  but  they  would  probably 
tie  it  to  an  old  log  or  chunk  large  enough 
to  float  it." 

St.  George :  "You  know  where  this  coal- 
bank  is?" 

Holmes :    "Yes." 

St.  George:    "Could  we  explore  that?" 

Holmes:  "You  might;  but  I  have  rea 
son  to  think  it  is  a  hiding  place  for  stolen 
horses  and  that  one  or  two  men  are  liable 
to  be  found  in  it  any  time.  That  would 
make  it  very  dangerous  for  a  stranger  to 
attempt  to  enter  it." 

St.  George  sat  some  time  in  thought.  "If 
we  could  find  McKinney's  body,"  he  said, 
"we  would  be  justified  in  swearing  out  war 
rants  and  taking  a  sheriff's  posse,  if  neces 
sary,  and  arresting  everybody  on  the  place." 

Holmes :  "Yes,  and  it  would  take  a  sher 
iff's  posse  to  do  it." 

St.  George:  "But  how  to  go  about  the 
search  for  the  body  puzzles  me." 

Holmes :  "It  would  be  very  risky.  Any 
strangers  found  on  that  part  of  the  farm  in 


232       THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

daytime  would  be  liable  to  be  shot  down 
from  cover  and  would  not  even  see  the  per 
son  who  did  it.  To  make  the  search  at 
night  would  not  be  possible." 

St.  George :    "Do  you  think  the  landlord 
of  the  Blue  Boar  is  in  the  confidence  of  » 
Esmond  ?" 

Holmes:  "I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  for  he 
rated  George  for  telling  things  they  had 
done  and  told  him  that  if  he  turned  state's 
evidence  it  would  not  screen  him  and  would 
not  save  him  from  going  to  the  peniten 
tiary  with  the  rest  of  them." 

St.  George :  "Do  you  think  the  old  man 
Esmond  is  in  these  things  with  his  sons?" 

Holmes :  "George  told  me  he  was  the 
worst  of  the  lot.  It  was  him  that  brought 
them  up  that  way.  He  used  to  shove  coun 
terfeit  money  and  tried  to  get  George  to 
take  it  and  pass  it  on  the  shares.  Of  course, 
he  is  not  active  now,  but  he  counsels  every 
thing." 

St.  George :  "You  spoke  of  the  youngest 
girl ;  I  suppose  that  is  the  one  I  met  there?" 

Holmes:  "Yes,  that  is  L,oraine — a  fine 
girl,  if  she  is  an  Esmond." 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  233 

St.  George :  "I  met  only  the  one  daugh 
ter,  and  I  was  there  twice." 

Holmes :  O,  the  other  is  married,  to  Ray 
Harris." 

St.  George :  "Ray  Harris !  The  fellow  I 
met  with  Dyson  there  Sunday?" 

Holmes :  "It  was  forced  on  the  poor 
girl.  Harris  knew  so  much  they  daren't  re 
fuse  him,  and  she  was  compelled  to  take 
him." 

Here  was  a  new  phase  of  the  deep  dam 
nation  of  crime  that  in  all  his  experience 
with  its  devious  ways  St.  George  had  never 
met  before.  What  if  Loraine  should  be 
subjected  to  such  coercion  and  outrage!  It 
made  his  blood  hot  to  think  of  it. 

St.  George :  "You  have  told  me  a  great 
deal,  Mr.  Holmes,  that  is  interesting  and 
may  be  helpful.  You  probably  know  a 
good  deal  about 'the  history  of  the  offenses 
of  this  crew?" 

Holmes :  "I  could  tell  you  a  good  deal 
about  things  they  have  done — things  that 
George  has  told  me ;  but,  as  I  said,  he  does 
not  know  anything  about  this." 

St.  George :  "This  is  all  to  be  as  a  sealed 
book,  between  you  and  me.  I  may  have  to 


234          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

visit  Riverside  again,  and  if  it  were  even 
known  that  you  had  called  on  me,  the  foxy 
landlord  of  the  Blue  Boar  would  scent  out 
something  suspicious.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  might  expose  you  to  the  fresh 
enmity  of  the  gang." 

Holmes:  "I  will  not  breathe  it  even  to 
my  own  family." 

St.  George:  "For  like  reasons,  I  think 
we  had  better  not  go  down  to  dinner  to 
gether.  There  is  the  risk  that  somebody 
from  your  village  might  be  at  the  table 
who  might  mention  our  acquaintance  where 
it  would  excite  suspicion.  I  am  greatly  in 
debted  to  you  for  coming  and  for  what  you 
have  told  me.  This"  (handing  him  a  $20 
gold  piece)  "will  be  some  return  for  your 
trouble  and  for  the  service  you  have  done 
us." 

"Do  not  give  me  a  fourth  of  this,"  said 
Holmes,  looking  at  the  coin. 

"Keep  it,"  said  St.  George;  "vou  have 
done  us  a  service  no  one  else  could." 

They  shook  hands  and  separated  at  the 
door  of  St.  George's  room. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          235 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

RECOGNITION,   DANGER,   WARNING. 

Out  of  this  nettle,  danger,  we  pluck  this  flower, 
safety.  — Henry  IV. 

St.  George  continued  to  frequent  the 
shady  resorts  of  Clarksburg  more  from 
habit  than  from  any  definite  expectation. 
One  evening  he  met  Keifer,  whom  he  had 
not  seen  since  their  visit  to  Sardis  and  Es 
mond's.  Keifer  was  accompanied  by  a 
dapper  looking  man  probably  under  thirty, 
whom  he  introduced  as  "Mr.  Hooker,  of 
Pennsylvania."  It  was  our  friend  who  had 
helped  along  the  robbery  of  the  Riverside 
store,  detailed  in  an  earlier  chapter.  They 
sat  down  and  Keifer  and  St.  George  chat 
ted  over  the  races  and  other  incidents  of 
the  trip,  and  St.  George  playfully  re 
proached  him  for  his  long  absence  from 
Clarksburg  and  mentioned  his  recent  visit 
to  Riverside  and  the  Esmonds.  Hooker 


236          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

took  little  part  in  the  chat ;  seemed,  in  fact, 
rather  reserved. 

After  they  had  parted  from  St.  George, 
Hooker  asked  Keifer  where  he  had  got  ac 
quainted  with  him  and  what  he  knew  about 
him. 

"I  met  him  here,"  said  Keifer,  "several 
months  ago.  He  is  a  Baltimore  man  of 
money  and  is  looking  around  here  for  coal 
lands  and  other  investments." 

"I  am  afraid  you  have  been  deceived," 
said  Hooker.  "This  man's  name  is  not  St. 
George,  and  he  is  not  a  Baltimore  man.  f^e 
is  a  detective  from  Pittsburgh." 

Keifer  was  astounded. 

"I  know  him  well,"  continued  Hooker. 
"He  is  connected  with  the  Duquesne  Bu 
reau,  on  Smithfield  street.  He  was  pointed 
out  to  me  on  the  street  by  a  man  that  knew 
every  'cop'  and  every  detective  in  Pitts 
burgh  ;  and  I  saw  him  again  in  Brownsville, 
where  he  was  on  a  'lay'  for  two  or  three 
months.  I  saw  him  again  early  in  Septem 
ber,  I  think,  at  Uniontown.  If  he  has  been 
at  Esmonds'  twice —  "  he  paused,  for  he 
did  not  know  just  how  much  Keifer  might 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  237 

or  might  not  know,  "I  should  say  he  is  a 
spy  on  some  trail,  and  Harry  ought  to 
know  it." 

Keifer  was  overwhelmed  with  chagrin 
and  rage  to  see  how  he  had  been  over 
reached  by  St.  George  and  quite  as  much 
over  his  own  stupidity,  for  he  did  not  ques 
tion  that  Hooker  was  right.  He  had  sim 
ply  been  a  fool. 

"Cannot  you  tell  him?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  not  going  back  there  I  am  on  an 
expedition,"  he  said,  significantly,  "that 
takes  me  in  another  direction.  But  Harry 
ought  to  be  posted  at  once." 

"I'll  drive  down  there  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning,"  said  the  crestfallen  Keifer, 
and  they  parted. 

Keifer,  when  he  got  to  his  hotel,  racked 
his  recollection  to  recall  the  things  he  had 
told  St.  George  about  himself  in  their  con 
fidential  exchanges,  for  fear  there  was 
something  a  detective  might  use  against 
him.  He  could  not  be  sure,  he  had  been 
such  an  ass,  just  how  much  he  had  told 
and  how  much  withheld,  and  the  thought 
of  it  made  him  uneasy. 


238          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

It  chanced  that  St.  George  had  planned 
a  visit  to  Riverside  for  the  next  day.  He 
wanted  to  communicate  to  Max  some  sug 
gestions  resulting  from  his  interview  with 
Holmes.  A  mile  before  he  reached  the  vil 
lage  he  overtook  Keifer  and  rallied  him  for 
not  letting  him  know  he  was  coming  this 
way.  Keifer  assured  him  he  had  had  no 
thought  of  it  when  they  were  together  the 
evening  before,  but  a  forgotten  matter  that 
had  recurred  to  him  made  the  trip  neces 
sary.  They  chatted  the  rest  of  the  way,  as 
St.  George  rode  beside  the  buggy,  and 
stopped  at  the  Blue  Boar.  Keifer  took  the 
landlord  aside  and  communicated  his  as 
tonishing  discovery  regarding  St.  George. 

Blue  was  excited,  frightened  and  angry, 
all  at  once.  "I  knew  it,"  he  declared.  "I 
knew  there  was  something  wrong  about 
that  man.  I  just  felt  it  in  my  bones." 

St.  George  had  walked  to  the  stable  with 
his  horse  and  been  met  by  Max  at  the  door. 
There  was  no  one  else  about  and  they 
walked  to  the  rear  where  Max  always 
stalled  the  horse,  and  talked  a  long  time  in 
low  tones. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  239 

"Will  you  have  your  horse  put  up?" 
asked  Blue  of  Keifer. 

"No,  I  must  go  right  on  to  Esmonds', 
for  Harry  ought  to  know  this  at  once.  I'll 
stop  as  I  come  back." 

He  drove  off  and  Blue,  guided  by  an  in 
fallible  instinct,  hurried  across  lots  the 
back  way  to  the  stable.  He  opened  a  door 
in  the  rear  and  silently  entered  the  harness 
room,  through  a  small  opening  in  the  par 
tition  of  which  he  could  both  see  and  hear 
St.  George  and  Max  not  two  yards  away. 
He  listened  till  the  conversation  was  con 
cluded  and  St.  George  left  the  stable.  His 
thoughts  were  in  a  tumult.  While  he  had 
felt  his  undefined  distrust  of  St  George,  he 
had  not  till  the  moment  of  Keifer's  disclos 
ure  had  the  faintest  suspicion  that  Max  was 
anything  else  than  he  appeared.  He  was 
enraged  to  think  how  cleverly  this  stupid 
tramp  had  taken  him  in.  The  talk  between 
him  and  St.  George  showed  plainly  enough 
that  he  was  a  confederate,  a  spy  set  to  pick 
up  odds  and  ends  about  the  stable  and  bar 
room  to  help  the  detection  of — Blue  knew 
what  only  too  well. 


240          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

When  Keifer  reached  Esmonds'  he 
found  Harry  just  passing  from  the  barn  to 
the  house.  The  latter  was  surprised  to  see 
him  and  said  so. 

"You  will  be  more  surprised  by  what  I 
have  to  tell  you,"  said  Abe 

"Come  in ;  it's  raw  out  here." 

They  went  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
a  soft-coal  fire  blazed  in  the  grate. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Esmond,  impatient 
and  always  afraid  of  something  alarming. 

Keifer  narrated  in  detail  what  the  reader 
already  knows  regarding  the  statement 
made  by  Hooker  as  to  St.  George.  Es 
mond  was  as  much  surprised  as  Keifer  had 
been.  "Is  that  possible?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Well,  he's  a  keen  one.  But  he  didn't  get 
anything  here,"  he  added,  a  moment  later. 

They  went  over  the  matter  in  all  its  as 
pects  and  bearings.  Keifer  expressed  his 
humiliation  to  think  he  had  been  the  means 
of  bringing  a  spy  to  their  house.  Harry 
made  him  feel  that  he  had  not  been  in  the 
least  to  blame.  St.  George,  he  said,  was 
smooth  enough  to  deceive  the  elect;  and 
still  he  rather  prided  himself  on  the  way 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          241 

he  had,  without  intending  it,  held  St. 
George  off  from  any  sort  of  confidence  at 
both  visits. 

"Well,  Abe,"  he  said,  after  they  had  got 
through  discussing  St.  George,  "I'm  glad 
to  see  you.  The  times  are  pretty  dull  just 
now.  Nothing  in  sight,  is  there?  It  may 
be  better  after  awhile." 

"Where  was  Hooker  going'1"  asked 
Keifer. 

"He's  after  a  bank  in  one  of  the  back 
towns.  He  has  been  setting  up  a  job  there 
that  he  thinks  will  be  pretty  fat.  His  part 
ners  went  round  by  the  railroad.  Wanted 
me  to  take  an  interest  in  it,  but  I  told  him 
I  was  resting  awhile.  I'll  have  your  horse 
put  away  and  fed.  You  will  stay  till  after 
dinner." 

When  Keifer  came  in,  Lorame  Esmond 
was  in  her  mother's  bedroom,  which  had  a 
door  opening  into  the  sitting-room ;  the 
conversation  between  him  and  Harry  was 
entirely  audible  to  her,  and  her  attention 
was  quickly  caught  by  the  mention  of  St. 
George.  As  soon  as  she  had  gathered  the 
purport  of  Keifer's  communication  and  un- 


242  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

derstood  that  St.  George  was  now  at  the 
Blue  Boar,  she  resolved  to  give  him  warn 
ing.  She  passed  out  by  another  door,  told 
her  mother  she  was  going  to  run  up  to  see 
Eloise,  went  to  the  stable  and,  saddling  her 
favorite  mare,  "Vic,"  was  soon  galloping 
up  the  river  towards  the  village,  for  she 
was  a  fearless  horsewoman.  Her  sister's 
house  was  a  few  hundred  yards  above  the 
mill.  The  ford  below  the  dam  was  the 
shallowest.  She  rode  through  the  river 
there  and  passed  on  up  to  the  village  on 
the  other  side.  She  went  straight  to  the 
old  stone  mansion,  forming  her  plan  as  she 
rode  along.  Arrived  at  Byers',  she  jumped 
down  and  hitched  her  horse,  and  was  soon 
in  the  arms  of  "Tot." 

They  kissed  one  another,  as  girls  will 
when  they  have  no  more  specific  object  for 
their  caresses,  and  then  Tot  drew  back  and 
looked  at  Loraine  inquiringly.  Loraine  put 
on  an  air  of  gayety. 

"What  brought  you?"  said  Tot. 

"What  should  bring  me?  I  was  dying  to 
see  you." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  243 

"Ah!"  said  the  other,  incredulously. 
"Since  when?" 

"Now  truly  I  wanted  to  see  you;  I  was 
lonesome." 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Tot,  who  was  hoping 
for  something  exciting. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Loraine,  with  a  con 
fidential  air.  "I  was  coming  up  to  see 
Eloise,  and  as  it  wasn't  much  farther,  I 
thought  I  would  run  over  and  talk  with 
you  about  a  new  dress  I'm  going  to  have." 

"Is  that  all  ?"  said  Tot,  still  doubting. 

"No,  that  isn't  all.  I'll  tell' you  the  rest. 
Just  as  I  was  coming  away,  Abe  Keifer 
came,  and  I  heard  him  tell  Harry  that  Mr. 
St.  George  had  come  down  with  him  and 
was  at  the  Blue  Boar.  Now,  I  want  you 
to  meet  Mr.  St.  George,  and  I  thought — 

"You  want  to  see  himself  yourself,"  said 
Tot  banteringly. 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  returned  Loraine,  "and 
I  suspect  he  wants  to  see  me."  She  was 
willing  Tot  should  think  she  was  smitten 
with  the  handsome  Baltimorean,  "So  I 
thought  you  and  I  would  run  over  and  see 


244          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

Jen,  and  maybe  while  there  we  might  run 
across  him." 

"That  will  be  delightful,"  said  Tot.  "Wait 
till  I  get  my  hat  on." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  girls  were  on 
their  way  to  visit  the  landlady  of  the  Blue 
Boar,  chattering  as  if  neither  had  ever 
known  the  shadow  of  a  care.  When  they 
entered  the  hall  of  the  hotel  by  the  side 
door,  they  came  face  to  face  with  Mr.  St. 
George,  who,  overcoat  on  arm,  was  about 
entering  the  parlor.  He  was  both  sur 
prised  and  pleased  at  the  encounter.  Lo- 
raine  and  he  shook  hands  cordially  and 
she,  turning  to  Tot,  presented  her.  St. 
George  responded  gracefully  to  the  intro 
duction  and  they  sat  down  in  the  parlor 
and  chatted  pleasantly  for  a  few  minutes, 
when,  at  an  invisible  sign  from  Loraine, 
Tot  arose  and  excused  herself  to  run  in 
and  greet  the  landlady. 

The  manner  of  Loraine  underwent  an  in 
stant  change.  She  arose  and  drew  near  St. 
George  and  said  in  a  low,  impressive  tone: 
"I  have  just  come  from  home  to  tell  you 
that  your  life  is  in  peril  here  and  that  you 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          245 

must  go  away  at  once.  I  only  learned  this 
within  an  hour  and  lost  not  a  moment." 

Astonished  at  her  words,  St.  George 
hesitated. 

"I  cannot  explain,"  she  said.  "Do  not 
ask  it.  Only  trust  me.  Get  your  horse 
and  go  at  once." 

"I  cannot  leave  you  in  this  abrupt  way," 
he  said. 

"You  must,  if  you  care  for  your  life  or 
my  regard." 

He  looked  a  moment  into  her  serious 
eyes  and  saw  there  the  grave  solicitude  ex 
pressed  in  her  words. 

"I  would  not  come  to  tell  you  this,"  she 
said,  "if  the  danger  were  not  real  and  im 
minent." 

He  was  convinced  and,  extending  his 
hand,  in  which  she  placed  her  own,  he  said, 
with  deep  feeling  and  a  warm  pressure  of 
the  hand: 

"Then,  if  I  must  go,  farewell,  and  God 
bless  you." 

He  passed  out  of  the  street  door,  walked 
to  the  stable  and  met  Max  at  the  door. 
"Give  me  my  horse,"  he  said.  The  horse 


246          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

was  standing  in  the  stall  with  saddle  and 
bridle  on,  needing  nothing  but  to  tighten 
the  girths.  A  minute  later  St.  George  was 
in  the  saddle,  Max  standing  at  the  horse's 
bit.  "I  have  just  been  warned,"  said  St. 
George,  "that  my  life  is  in  danger  here. 
Some  discovery  has  been  made.  Of  course, 
they  do  not  connect  you  with  me  in  any 
way,  but  be  on  your  guard."  He  rode 
away,  passed  over  the  bridge  and  out  of  the 
village. 

*     *     * 

Loraine  sat  thoughtful  two  or  three 
minutes  after  St.  George  had  left  her ;  then 
she  walked  to  the  street  door  and  looking 
towards  the  stable,  saw  him  mount  and 
ride  off.  She  passed  into  the  dining-room, 
where  she  found  Tot  and  the  landlady 
chattering  like  canaries  and  as  gay. 

"O,"  she  said  to  Tot,  "I  didn't  have  but 
a  minute  with  him  after  all.  'Business!' 
Tot,  don't  ever  marry  a  man  of  business ; 
if  you  do,  you'll  have  to  take  second  place 
in  his  affections." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          247 

"Ah,"  said  the  landlady,  "I  hear  St. 
George  has  been  down  to  see  you  twice." 

"No,  certainly  not  more  than  once,  for 
when  he  came  first  he  did  not  know  I  was 
there.  But  this  is  three  times  he  has  come 
to  see  somebody  at  the  Blue  Boar,"  and 
she  looked  mischievously  towards  the 
youthful  and  good-looking  landlady. 

"I  don't  believe  he  comes  to  see  any  of 
us,"  she  said.  "It  is  somebody's  cattle 
farm,  or  timber  tract,  or  coal  lands.  That's 
the  kind  of  rivals  that  cut  us  out." 

"Don't  you  believe  it,"  said  Tot.  "And 
now  that  I've  been  introduced  to  him,  I 
am  going  to  set  my  cap  for  him.  They  say 
he's  rich,  and  we  know  he  is  handsome." 

"But,"  said  the  landlady,  looking  at  L,o- 
raine,  "if  this  is  to  be  a  scramble  between 
you  and  Tot,  what  is  to  become  of  the 
George  who  isn't  a  saint?" 

"O,  he'll  be  one  some  time.  But  saints 
don't  grow  on  every  bush." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  I  should  pluck 
this  one,"  laughed  Tot. 

And  thus  they  rattled  on,  Loraine  as  gay 
as  the  others,  and  really  light-hearted  for 


248          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

the  moment  over  the  success  of  her  mission 
to  St.  George. 

The  girls  returned  to  the  stone  mansion, 
and  Loraine,  asking  Tot  to  come  and  see 
her  just  as  soon  as  she  could,  mounted  her 
horse. 

"What  about  that  new  dress?"  asked 
Tot,  standing  by  the  gate. 

"I'll  tell  you  when  you  come  to  see  me," 

laughed  Loraine  as  she   rode  away. 

*     *     *    ••,---, 

Keifer  came  back  to  the  Bhie  Boar  about 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  and  was  sur 
prised  to  learn  that  St.  George  had  abruptly 
returned  to  Clarksburg.  "This  is  odd,"  he 
remarked.  "He  didn't  get  away  any  too 
soon,"  said  Blue. 

Next  day  the  landlord  received  a  note 
from  St.  George  enclosing  money  for  his 
score  and  explaining  that  a  messenger  had 
brought  him  word  that  obliged  him  to  re 
turn  'to  Clarksburg  at  once.  "I  did  not  see 
any  messenger,"  thought  Jonas,  "but  he 
may  have  come  while  I  was  at  the  black 
smith  shop."  He  went  to  the  stable  and 
asked  Max  if  somebody  had  come  for  St. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          249 

George.  Max,  taking  the  cue,  replied  that 
a  boy  had  brought  a  note  and  ridden  away 
and  that  St.  George  had  gone  directly  after. 
"Then  he  will  be  back  >  again,"  thought 
Blue,  "and  we  will  have  a  chance  to  settle 
with  him." 


250          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SURPRISE. 

Can  such  things  be 

And  overcome  us  like  a  summer  cloud? 

— Macbeth. 

The  evening  of  the  second  day  after 
Keifer's  visit  to  him,  Harry  Esmond 
dropped  into  the  Blue  Boar.  He  had  spent 
the  earlier  part  of  the  evening  at  the  stone 
mansion,  not  caring  to  call  on  Blue  till  the 
day's  business  was  over  and  the  loungers 
gone  home.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  den, 
and  Jonas  took  him  into  the  bar-room,  and 
they  sat  behind  the  high  counter,  out  of 
sight  even  if  any  one  had  looked  in  at  the 
windows.  Blue  had  sent  Max  to  bed,  tell 
ing  him  he  would  not  be  wanted  again  that 
night. 

The  two  sat  down  and  looked  at  each 
other  a  few  moments  as  men  do  who  have 
encountered  some  matter  of  mutual  aston- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          251 

ishment,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Did  you 
ever?" 

"Well,  don't  that  beat  the  dickens?"  be 
gan  Jonas,  who  was  not  given  to  plain,  or 
dinary  swearing. 

"It  beats  the  devil  and  his  imps,"  re 
turned  Harry,  with  emphasis 

"It  may  beat  the  devil,  but  not  his  imps, 
for  we  were  not  taken  in  by  it,"  laughed 
Jonas. 

"But  would  have  been  if  we  hadn't  all 
been  watching  our  p's  and  q's,"  returned 
Esmond.  "I  think  from  what  Keifer  said 
the  other  day,  he  was  off  his  guard  and 
told  St.  George  some  things  he  wishes  now 
he  had  kept  to  himself.  St  George  would 
do  well  to  beware  of  Keifer,  for  he  is  furi 
ous  and  will  settle  the  account  if  he  gets  a 
chance." 

"Wouldn't  blame  him,"  said  Blue.  "I 
want  to  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "when  Abe 
stopped  here  the  other  day  with  St.  George 
he  took  me  to  one  side  and  told  me  what 
Hooker  had  told  him.  I  came  back  to  the 
street  door  and  saw  St.  George  leading  his 
horse'  to  the  stable.  All  at  once  it  struck 


252          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

me  as  peculiar  he  should  always  want  to 
go  to  the  stable  to  see  after  his  horse,  and 
the  thought  flashed  into  my  mind  whether 
he  did  not  go  to  see  Max.  I'd  never  have 
thought  such  a  thing  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
what  Abe  had  told  me.  So  I  ran  around 
the  other  way  and  went  into  the  stable  at 
the  south  end  door,  which  opens  in  the 
harness  and  feed  room,  and  there,  not  two 
yards  away,  stood  St.  George  and  Max  in 
close  confab,  and  through  a  knothole  I 
could  see  them  and  hear  everything  they 
said.  St.  George  asked  Max  if  he  had  made 
any  discoveries.  Max  said  nothing  of  im 
portance.  Had  he  been  over  to  your  place 
again?  No.  Had  you  been  about  the  Blue 
Boar?  No.  Then  St.  George  told  him  he 
had  learned  there  was  an  old  well  in  a 
thicket  on  the  hill  near  Dyson's  house  and 
there  was  reason  to  believe  the  body  had 
been  thrown  in  that  well,  and  he  wondered 
if  Max  could  not  go  across  there  some  day 
rabbit  hunting  and  see  if  he  could  locate 
that  well." 

Harry    sat    with    open     eyes,    amazed. 
"How    do   you    suppose,"     he     said,     "St. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  253 

George  ever  got  hold  of  that?"  Did  he 
see  anybody  here  the  day  he  spoke  who 
could  have  told  him  anything?" 

Blue:  "I  don't  think  so,  because  he  was 
about  the  house  all  the  time  with  the 
Clarksburg  men  who  came  with  him,  ex 
cept  when  he  was  speaking  and  until  he 
and  Cassel  started  down  to  your  house." 

Esmond :  "Was  old  Jake  Holmes  about 
here  that  day?" 

Blue  "I  saw  him  in  the  back  part  of  the 
crowd  while  the  speaking  was  going  on; 
but  he  did  not  come  near  the  house  and  I 
am  sure  he  was  not  near  St.  George.  I  am 
sure  they  don't  know  one  another  at  all. 
The  old  man  doesn't  come  about  the  house 
any  more  since  I  gave  George  that  rak- 
ing." 

Harry  was  thoughtful.  "I  wonder  who 
could  have  told  him.  It  seems  he  found 
out  some  things  after  all.  I  can't  imagine 
where  he  got  it.  This  Max  has  never  been 
over  there?" 

Blue:  "I  sent  him  over  to  your  house 
twice,  but  I  am  certain  he  went  and  came 
straight  back.  He  was  not  gone  long 


254  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

enough  for  an  excursion  on  the  hill.  And 
what  should  he  know  at  that  time  to  make 
him  want  to  go  there?  He  didn't  know 
about  this  till  St.  George  told  him  the  other 
day." 

"O,  that's  true ;  I  forgot.  I  will  post  Lot 
about  this,  and  if  Mr.  Max  or  anybody  else 
goes  rabbit  hunting  around  that  thicket,  he 
will  run  against  somebody  after  larger 
game.  Who  is  this  Max?  Where  did  he 
come  from?" 

Blue:  "He  came  tramping  through  the 
town  last  fall  one  evening  and  stopped  at 
the  blacksmith  shop  to  ask  for  work — the 
most  distressed,  miserable  looking  cuss 
you  ever  saw.  He  hadn't  a  whole  garment 
to  his  back  and  his  shoes  were  just  letting 
his  feet  out  on  the  ground.  I  was  there 
getting  the  shoes  changed  on  Sam.  I  asked 
the  poor  devil  some  questions,  and  he  told 
me  he  was  from  Cumberland  and  had 
worked  in  the  Luman  House  stable  for 
Sam  Luman.  You  know  I  used  to  be  ac 
quainted  in  Cumberland  and  knew  Sam 
Luman.  Well,  his  story  seemed  so  plausi- 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  255 

ble — and  Bob  had  just  quit—that  I  took 
him  in." 

Esmond:  "I'd  have  done  the  same. 
Don't  it  beat  the  devil  how  these  fellows  fix 
up  a  story.  It  seems  hard  to  believe  that 
stupid  fellow  is  a  detective.  He  came  from 
Cumberland,  you.  know,  where  you  came 
from,"  laughing. 

"Yes,  and  St.  George  came  from  Balti 
more,"  said  Jonas,  turning  the  laugh. 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  Harry.  "They  al 
ways  hail  from  some  unexpected  quarter. 
That's  their  business.  Well,"  he  resumed, 
"what  do  you  think  we  ought  to  do  with 
Max?  He  does  not  know  we  suspect  him." 

"What  ought  to  be  done  with  St. 
George  ?" 

"Since  he  is  anxious  to  find  McKinney, 
perhaps  we  had  better  send  him  the  same 
road." 

Blue :  "He  went  away  very  suddenly  the 
other  day  after  Abe  had  gone  to  your 
house ;  but  next  day  I  got  a  note  from  him 
sending  me  the  money  for  feeding  his  horse 
and  saying  a  boy  had  followed  him  from 
Clarksburg  with  a  message  that  required 


256          THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

him  to  go  right  back.  His  going  away 
seemed  to  me  so  queer  that  I  asked  Max 
and  he  told  me  a  boy  rode  up  with  a  letter 
for  St.  George  and  went  right  away  again, 
and  St.  George  came  down  and  took  his 
horse  and  went  off.  It  must  have  been 
while  I  was  over  at  the  blacksmith  shop. 
It  shows  he  does  not  know  that  we  are  on 
to  him  and  he  will  be  back  again." 

Esmond:  "Then  we  had  better  let  Max 
alone  for  the  present  and  keep  quiet  till  St. 
George  comes  back.  Meanwhile  we'll  con 
sider  what  ought  to  be  done." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.          257 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

DEFEAT. 

'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  success, 
But  we'll  deserve  it. 

— Addison's  Cato. 

The  night  after  St.  George's  return  to 
Clarksburg  he  sat  down  in  his  room  to  go 
over  the  developments  and  progress — want 
of  progress,  he  felt — in  the  matter  of  his 
pursuit  of  the  murderers  of  Thomas  Mc- 
Kinney.  He  had  arrived  at  the  point  where 
Bernard  had  left  off;  he  was  known  to 
them  as  a  spy.  This  was  the  end  of  his 
usefulness  on  that  line  of  attack.  The  dan 
ger  this  exposed  him  to  did  not  specially 
concern  him,  because  that  was  incident  to 
the  pursuit.  He  had  yielded  to  Loraine's 
entreaties  to  quit  the  Blue  Boar  abruptly 
because  he  realized  the  sacrifice  she  had 
made,  and  the  feeling  that  prompted  it, 
when  she  came  to  warn  him,  and  he  wanted 
to  relieve  her  mind  at  the  earliest  moment. 


258          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

He  went  back  to  see  if  he  could  account 
for  her  warning  ?  What  had  occurred  since 
his  last  visit  to  the  great  elm,  when  he  felt 
sure  there  was  not  a  breath  of  suspicion? 
First,  his  interview  with  Holmes.  Could 
the  old  man  have  incautiously  let  out  any 
thing  that  had  been  carried  to  the  Blue 
Boar  or  the  Esmonds?  He  did  not  believe 
it.  What  else?  His  meeting  with  Keifer 
and  Hooker.  Then  there  was  Keifer's  visit 
to  Esmonds'  the  next  day,  which  Keifer 
had  not  mentioned  the  night  before.  In 
this  connection  it  occurred  to  him  Loraine 
had  said  in  the  Blue  Boar  parlor  she  had 
learned  of  his  danger  only  within  an  hour. 
That  would  have  been  coincidently  with 
Keifer's  arrival  at  their  house.  Then  Keifer 
had  gone  there  to  tell  Esmond  of  some  sus 
picion  or  discovery.  But  what?  Hooker! 
Who  was  Hooker,  anyhow?  From  Penn 
sylvania — western  Pennsylvania,  it  was  fair 
to  assume.  Could  Hooker  have  known 
him?  Had  he  ever  seen  Hooker  before? 
He  had  a  trained  memory  for  the  faces  of 
criminals  and  thought  he  could  recognize 
any  face  he  had  ever  seen  in  the  rogues' 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM.          259 

gallery.  Hooker  must  be  a  criminal  or  he 
would  not  consort  with  Keifer;  but  he 
could  not  remember  that  he  had  ever  seen 
the  man.  But  Hooker  must  have  known 
and  recognized  him.  That  must  be  the  ex 
planation.  Hooker  had  recognized  him  as 
a  detective;  had  told  Keifer,  who  had  gone 
straight  to  Esmond.  Loraine  had  perhaps 
overheard  Keifer's  communication  and  had 
come  straight  to  the  Blue  Boar  to  tell  him 
—what  she  saw  was  the  logical  conse 
quence — that  he  was  in  peril.  This  was  the 
goal  his  thoughts  had  reached,  and  the 
reader  knows  how  near  he  was  to  the  truth. 
His  heart  warmed  towards  the  girl  when 
he  thought  of  what  she  had  done  for  him, 
and  it  gave  him  a  pang  to  remember  what 
old  Mr.  Holmes  had  told  him — that  she  was 
not  heart-free. 

He  was  at  the  end  of  his  detective  tether. 
Now,  could  he  venture  to  call  on  the  civil 
authorities  of  Harrison  countv  and  demand 
that  the  sheriff  take  a  posse  and  arrest 
Esmond  and  his  connections?  This  was 
too  important  a  step  to  be  taken  un 
advisedly.  He  wrote  to  Bernard,  detailing 


260          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

the  situation  and  concluding  with  the  ques 
tion  he  had  just  asked  himself.  In  four 
days  came  the  reply:  "Have  you  evidence 
strong  enough  to  support  you  in  swearing 
out  the  warrant?  Be  sure  of  this  before 
acting." 

He  went  over  to  the  office  of  Squire 
Werninger,  an  old  and  experienced  magis 
trate,  with  whom  he  had  made  some  ac 
quaintance,  and  with  him  went  over  the 
facts  point  by  point.  What  evidence  was 
there  that  would  stand  the  analysis  of  the 
courts?  asked  the  magistrate.  What  could 
be  proven?  He  could  prove  that  a  man 
answering  the  description  of  McKinney 
had  visited  Riverside  at  a  certain  date ;  had 
crossed  the  river  on  the  ferry  and  had 
turned  from  the  ferry  into  the  road  leading 
down  the  river  past  the  Esmond  farm. 
What  more  ?  Nothing  tangible.  After  that 
there  was  nothing  but  inference  and  de 
duction,  entirely  convincing  to  St.  George 
but  not  worth  presentation  as  evidence  in 
court.  Of  what  value  when  judicially  an 
alyzed  would  be  his  inferences  based  on 
the  distress  of  Loraine  Esmond,  or  the 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          261 

statements  made  by  Holmes  and  others  re 
garding  the  reputation  of  these  people? 
How  could  he  prove  that  McKinney  had 
not  turned  off  at  the  road  leading  to  Mas- 
ton's,  or  that  leading  up  to  Dietrich's,  be 
fore  reaching  the  Esmond  homestead,  or 
that  he  had  not  passed  on  beyond  it? 

It  would  not  do.  He  could  not  make  the 
oath  necessary  to  warrant  the  magistrate 
in  issuing  so  important  a  process  or  produce 
evidence  to  support  it  if  issued.  He  was 
obliged  to  report  to  Bernard  that  no  evi 
dence  strong  enough  to  warrant  an  arrest 
had  been  obtained.  His  thoughts  reverted 
to  Max.  He  being  wholly  unsuspected, 
might  yet  pick  up  a  clue  that  would  open 
the  way  to  what  seemed  the  unassailable 
security  of  the  murderers. 

A  few  nights  later  he  met  Keifer  again 
in  one  of  the  gambling  resorts  he  still  went 
to,  and  Tarbert  with  him.  They  affected  to 
meet  him  with  the  former  show  of  pleasure 
and  Keifer  was  even  effusive  in  his  famil 
iarity;  but  St.  George  knowing  what  he 
did,  and  what  they  did  not  suppose  he 
knew,  easily  saw  through  the  pretense.  He, 


262          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

too,  affected  to  be  unconscious  of  any 
change,  and  they  soon  left  him,  mentioning 
an  engagement  as  the  excuse. 

He  loitered  away  the  evening  watching 
the  play  and,  tired  at  last,  started  to  return 
to  his  hotel.  It  was  near  midnight,  bright 
moonlight,  the  streets  deserted.  Clarks 
burg  at  that  time  was  not  the  metropolis  it 
deems  itself  now.  Honest  people  then  went 
to  bed  with  the  chickens ;  few  strangers 
came  and  went,  and  no  such  thing  as  a 
policeman,  night  or  day,  had  then  been 
thought  of.  In  this  peaceful  old  rural  town 
it  had  never  occurred  to  St.  George  to  be 
afraid  of  anything  save  the  wiles  of  its 
pretty  girls,  and  he  had  been  coming  and 
going  at  all  hours  of  night  without  thought 
of  danger.  He  turned  into  Pike  street 
while  yet  a  long  way  from  his  hotel  and 
walked  past  several  open  lots  along  a  neg 
lected  hedge  that  ended  at  any  alley.  He 
had  got  perhaps  ten  paces  beyond  this  alley 
when  the  sharp  crack  of  a  firearm,  accom 
panied  by  the  "ping"  of  a  bullet,  saluted  his 
ear.  He  was  startled,  for  the  ball  came  so 
close  he  felt  it  fan  his  cheek.  He  turned 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          263 

and  looked  back.  No  one  was  in  sight. 
Turning  again  to  walk  on,  another  report 
and  another  bullet  which  he  felt  strike  his 
hat  warned  him  that  he  must  get  away.  It 
was  no  use  to  stand  there  to  be  shot  at  by 
an  unseen  assassin,  he  himself  without  a 
weapon.  He  sprang  forward  and  ran  for  a 
block,  and  then,  walking  briskly  the  rest  of 
the  way,  was  soon  at  the  hotel.  The  office 
was  still  open,  the  porter  asleep  in  his  chair, 
and,  taking  down  his  key,  he  went  to  his 
room,  took  off  his  hat  and  looked  at  it. 
The  bullet  had  passed  through  the  crown  so 
low  it  must  almost  have  grazed  the  scalp. 
When  the  first  shot  was  fired,  he  had  sup 
posed  the  object  was  robbery;  but  at  the 
second  he  thought  of  Keifer  and  Tarbert 
and  he  felt  an  instant  conviction  they  were 
his  assailants.  He  now  had  no  doubt  of 
this.  He  recalled  the  shot  that  had  been 
fired  at  Bernard  and  realized  that  he  had 
to  do  with  a  set  of  thugs  against  whom 
there  was  no  safety  anywhere.  He  now 
understood,  better  than  before,  Loraine's 
urgency  that  he  should  leave  the  Blue  Boar 


264  .        THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

without  delay.  She  had  known  the  meth 
ods  of  the  gang  better  than  he. 

He  did  not  mention  his  adventure  next 
morning.  There  were  good  business  rea 
sons  why  he  should  avoid  the  notoriety  it 
would  provoke,  and  he  cared  nothing  for  it 
except  as  it  bore  on  his  mission.  He  knew 
how  vain  would  be  any  attempt  to  discover 
the  assassins  or  prove  anything  against 
them,  sure  as  he  was  himself  of  their  iden 
tity. 

Two  days  later  he  had  a  letter  from  Ber 
nard,  Requesting  him  to  return  to  Pitts- 
burg,  as  his  usefulness  here  was  clearly  at 
an  end. 

St.  George  was  of  the  same  opinion.  He 
put  the  mutilated  hat  in  his  trunk  to  show 
his  associates  in  the  Pittsburgh  office  as  a 
sort  of  object  lesson  to  illustrate  the  story 
he  would  have  to  tell,  and  that  evening 
quietly  bade  good-bye  to  the  Walker  and  to 
some  associations  that  had  been  pleasant 
to  him  and  to  others. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          265 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

VANISHMENT. 

— These  our  actors, 
As  I  foretold  you,  were  all  spirits,  and 

Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air. 

— Tempest. 

Ten  days  after  St.  George's  departure 
from  Clarksburg,  a  letter  for  Mr.  Maximil 
ian  Rudolph  arrived  at  the  Riverside  post- 
office.  The  postmaster  knew  who  Maximil 
ian  was,  and  as  he  had  never  asked  for  a 
letter  and  probably  never  would,  he  oblig 
ingly  took  it  to  him  at  the  Blue  Boar  sta 
ble. 

Max  looked  at  the  superscription  and 
then  at  the  postmark,  and  his  face  bright 
ened.  "O,"  he  said,  "that's  from  an  old 
crony  I  used  to  work  with  at  the  Luman 
House.  I  know  his  writing.  I'm  fery 
much  oblige  to  you."  He  walked  to  the 
rear  of  the  stable  and  opened  and  read  the 
letter.  What  was  in  it  nobody  in  River 
side  ever  knew. 


266          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

Max  was  around  the  house  and  stable 
till  after  dark ;  but  when  it  came  time  to  fix 
up  the  fires  for  the  night  he  was  nowhere 
to  be  found;  nor  was  he  ever  seen  again 
by  the  landlord  of  the  Blue  Boar  or  by  any 
body  else  in  the  village. 

His  disappearance  was  matter  for  a  good 
deal  of  conjecture  among  the  habitues  of 
the  house.  The  postmaster,  who  recalled 
Max's  remark,  was  of  opinion  that  he  had 
experienced  a  sudden  attack  of  homesick 
ness,  or  that  his  old  friend  had  made  him 
some  very  enticing  offer,  and  perhaps  en 
closed  him  money  to  travel  on;  for  Max 
had  not  drawn  any  pay  in  cash  and  could 
not  be  in  possession  of  a  cent.  When  peo 
ple  asked  Blue  what  had  become  of  him,  his 
reply  was  that  he  guessed  he  had  "gone 
back  to  Cumberland  to  eat  his  Christmas 
dinner."  But  secretly  he  was  more  puzzled 
than  any  of  the  rest  and  for  different  rea 
sons.  Had  somebody  warned  Max  that  he 
was  in  danger?  And  if  so,  who? 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          267 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


INDEPENDENT   ENTERPRISE. 

Enterprises  of   great  pith   and   moment. 

— Hamlet. 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off. 

— Macbeth. 


Christmas  came,  as  it  does  every  year, 
and  brought  around  the  accustomed  tur 
key.  Thanks  to  Loraine's  assiduous  care, 
there  was  at  the  Big  Elm  a  fine  flock  of  the 
national  bird  and  it  had  contributed  a  brace 
of  big  gobblers  for  the  Christmas  dinner. 
It  had  been  a  prosperous  year  for  the  Es 
monds  and  they  were  all  to  gather  at  the 
family  board  for  a  reunion,  at  which  mat 
ters  of  general  concern  could  be  discussed 
along  with  the  turkeys.  Lot  Dyson  and 
his  wife,  Ray  Harris  and  his,  Guy  Esmond 
and  his,  and  Lynn  Johnson,  who  did  not 
have  any,  joined  the  family  in  the  season's 
cheer.  Not  fifteen  minutes  before  the  call 
to  dinner,  who  should  ride  up  to  the  gate 


268          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

but  Hooker.  He  dismounted  and  came  in, 
accompanied  by  one  of  the  younger  boys. 
All  were  surprised  except  Harry,  who  knew 
Hooker  would  return  this  way  from  his 
expedition.  He  was  warmly  welcomed  all 
round  and  was  himself  in  high  spirits ; 
and  the  dinner  table  was  a  very  cheerful 
one  for  all  save  Loraine,  who  had  lost  the 
habit  of  cheerfulness  and  found  it  hard  to 
regain.  Johnson  looked  a  little  saturnine 
and  snaky,  for  he  was  getting  dreadfully 
short,  and  Dyson  looked  hungry,  as  he  al 
ways  did;  but  the  royal  feast  brightened 
even  his  wolfish  countenance. 

Hooker's  horse  was  taken  to  the  barn, 
and  after  dinner  the  men  walked  out  to 
look  at  it,  for  they  were  connoisseurs  in 
horseflesh  and  looked  at  horses  much  as 
the  dilettanti  look  at  pictures. 

"It's  a  horse  I  hired  at  the  Bartlett  liv 
ery,  in  Clarksburg,"  explained  Hooker, 
"and  I  promised  to  send  him,  back  by  mail 
carrier  to-morrow." 

"Why  send  him  back  at  all?"  suggested 
Harris;  "he's  good  for  $75." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          269 

"He  is  not  worth  the  trouble,"  said 
Hooker.  "Besides,  I'm  not  after  any  small 
game  these  days.  I  don't  need  to  be.  Look 
here,  boys!" 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  trousers 
pocket  and  drew  out  a  roll  of  bank  notes 
as  thick  as  his  wrist.  He  spread  them  open 
in  the  palm  of  one  hand  and  turned  them 
over,  face  up,  one  by  one.  There  were  fif 
ties  and  hundreds  by  the  dozen ;  nothing 
less  than  $20. 

"W-h-e-w !"  whistled  Johnson,  whose 
snaky  eye  glittered  at  the  sight ;  "you  are 
well  fixed,  for  a  fact!" 

Harry,  who  alone  knew  where  the  money 
came  from,  was  surprised  at  the  size  of  the 
spoil.  Hooker,  whose  head  was  turned  by 
his  good  luck  and  the  surprise  he  excited, 
continued:  "That's  only  a  part  of  it,"  pull 
ing  out  a  bursting  pocketbook  from  the 
other  pocket  and  holding  it  up  without 
opening  it. 

"You  struck  it  rich,"  said  Harry. 

"You  bet  I  did!"  Hooker  was  so  in 
flated  he  could  not  conceal  his  exultation. 
He  did  not  dream  there  could  be  any  dan- 


270          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

ger  in  making  such  a  display  among  friends. 
But  even  wolves  when  ravenous  have  been 
known  to  devour  one  another,  and  the  lead 
ers  in  the  French  Terror  guillotined  each 
other  as  fast  as  it  stood  them  in  hand  to 
do  so.  If  Hooker  had  known  the  views 
held  by  Dyson  and  Johnson  in  the  matter  of 
being  led  into  temptation,  he  would  have 
been  more  discreet. 

"Put  up  your  money,"  said  Harry,  laugh 
ing;  "you  make  us  feel  poor  and  that  is 
not  pleasant  for  Christmas  time." 

It  seemed  to  occur  to  Hooker  that  he 
had  been  foolish,  and  he  turned  the  talk 
into  other  channels. 

"What  are  your  plans?"  asked  Harry. 
"Will  you  stay  with  us  over  the  holidays?" 

"I  cannot,"  replied  Hooker.  "I  must  go 
on  down  the  river  to-morrow  night." 

"Shall  we  send  your  horse  up  to  Jonas 
to-night  to  go  by  the  mail  carrier  in  the 
morning  ?" 

"If  one  of  the  boys  will  take  him,  here  is 
a  dollar  for  his  trouble.  How  am  I  to  get 
towards  home?" 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          271 

"Is  that  last  horse  Tarbeu  sent  down 
still  in  the  barn?"  Harry  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Ray,  "  and  I'm  getting 
tired  of  feeding  him." 

"That  will  just  fit,  Hooker ;  you  can  pass 
him  on  to  market  and  account  to  us  as 
usual." 

They  went  back  to  the  house,  and  while 
the  mother  and  daughters  and  Mrs.  Dyson 
busied  themselves  about  the  dining-room 
and  kitchen,  the  "men  folks"  got  together 
and  held  a  confidential  session  over  every 
thing  of  recent  occurrence  that  concerned 
them  collectively. 

Harry  expressed  his  satisfaction  over  the 
cue  that  Hooker  had  given  Keifer  about 
St.  George  and  then  told  Hooker  about 
Blue's  discovery  that  his  tramp  hostler, 
who  came  to  him  two  or  three  months  ago, 
was  a  confederate  of  St.  George's.  These 
matters  were  intensely  interesting  to  the 
whole  crew.  In  the  course  of  the  talk 
Harry  related  what  Blue  had  overheard 
St.  George  say  to  Max  about  the  old  well. 
All  pricked  up  their  ears  at  this. 


272          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  got  on  to  that  ?" 
growled  Lot. 

"Some  traitor.  Do  you  think  it  could 
be  George?"  asked  Johnson. 

"Who  knows  where  George  is?"  John 
son  continued. 

"He's  working  at  his  Uncle  Andy's,"  an 
swered  Ray,  "and  I  have  it  straight  that  he 
has  not  been  off  the  farm  since  he  went 
there.  How  should  he  know  anything 
about  St.  George  or  St.  George  know  any 
thing  about  him?" 

"That's  so,"  remarked  Harry.  "  'Jone' 
knows  just  where  St.  George  was,  and  who 
he  saw,  each  time  he  was  at  the  Blue  Boar. 
I'm  puzzled  to  think  how  he  got  hold  of 
that." 

"Well,  let  me  tell  ye,"  quoth  Lot,  sav 
agely,  "they'd  better  not  monkey  around 
that  thicket  or  there  will  be  some  more  of 
them  in  the  old  well  before  they  know  it." 

After  supper  Lot,  Ray  and  Guy  prepared 
to  go  home.  "Come  and  stay  with  us  to 
night,  Lynn,"  said  Lot,  and  his  wife  sec 
onded  the  invitation. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.          273 

"Better  stay  here,"  said  Mrs.  Esmond; 
"we  will  rind  a  place  for  you  to  sleep." 

"I  will  go  with  Lot  to-night,  to  keep  him 
from  being  afraid  of  the  old  well,"  said 
Johnson,  with  a  grimace,  and  a  few  min 
utes  later  they  went. 

Dyson  and  Johnson  sat  before  the  fire 
talking  in  low  tones  long  after  Mrs.  Dy 
son  had  gone  to  bed.  They  seemed  to  find 
the  talk  deeply  interesting  and  their  con 
clusions  harmonious  and  satisfactory.  As 
they  were  about  to  separate  for  the  night 
Dyson  remarked :  "You  remember  the 
time  we  divided  the  McKee  goods  upstairs 
here,  and  what  a  hog  he  was,  and  how 
he  took  at  least  double  his  fair  share?  I 
said  to  myself  then  that  we'd  get  even  with 
him  some  time." 

"And  we  will,"  replied  Johnson,  "sure's 
you  live." 

The  "barn"  referred  to  in  the  previous 
day's  conversation,  where  the  horse  for 
Hooker  was  in  keeping,  was  a  place  of  con 
cealment  that  will  be  described  in  a  later 


274          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

chapter,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  more  up  the 
river  from  the  homestead. 

Next  evening  Harry  Esmond  had  an  en 
gagement  in  the  village,  so  after  supper  he 
bade  good-bye  to  Hooker  and  set  out  to 
walk  over.  A  little  after  dark  Hooker  made 
his  adieus  to  the  family  and  walked  up  to 
the  "barn"  where  he  understood  he  would 
find  Dyson  or  Lynn,  who  would  have  the 
horse  in  readiness  for  him,  and  he  would 
then  ride  directly  down  the  river  without 
stopping  again  at  the  house.  Some  thirty 
minutes  later  a  horseman  rode  rapidly  down 
the  road  past  the  elm. 

"There  goes  Hooker!"  said  one  of  the 
younger  boys,  who  was  standing  at  the 
front  door,  listening  to  hear  him  go  by; 
"and  he's  going  just  like  the  old  Nick  was 
after  him." 


Next  morning  a  stray  horse  was  found 
wandering  about  the  streets  of  Worthless- 
ton.  The  reins  were  on  his  neck  and  there 
were  stains  on  the  saddle  that  looked  sus 
piciously  like  blood.  He  was  discovered 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  275 

by  the  clerk  who  came  early  to  open  Mil- 
len's  store  and  was  put  in  the  stable,  where 
a  great  many  who  had  heard  of  the  find 
went  during  the  day  to  see  if  they  knew 
the  animal.  Nobody  there  had  ever  seen 
it  before.  There  was  a  world  of  conjecture 
about  the  tragedy  that  appeared  to  connect 
itself  with  the  turning  of  the  horse  at  large, 
but  no  owner  ever  appeared,  and  as  nobody 
in  that  region  was  missing,  the  conclusion 
was  that  some  stranger  passing  through  in 
the  night  had  been  murdered  for  his  money. 
The  horse  was  finally  sold  as  an  estray  and 
the  excitement  died  out. 

The  Esmonds  were  not  long  in  hearing 
of  the  horse  and  Ray  Harris  went  down  to 
see  it.  He  recognized  it  instantly  as  the 
animal  that  had  been  ridden  away  by 
Hooker,  but  gave  no  sign.  The  Esmonds 
were  greatly  puzzled.  They  had  no  doubt 
Hooker  had  been  robbed  and  murdered 
somewhere  about  Worthlesston,  but  how 
had  it  happened  ?  They  could  not  help  feel 
ing  a  shade  of  envy  that  anybody  should 
have  got  such  a  prize  without  their  having 


276          THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

a  share.    Hooker  never  reached  home,  nor 
was  ever  heard  of. 

A  few  days  later,  when  another  disap 
pearance  was  exciting  conjecture  in  the  vil 
lage,  an  old  blacksmith  living  at  the  east 
ern  border  of  the  town  recalled  that  he  had 
one  night,  not  long  after  dark,  heard,  or 
thought  he  heard,  in  the  direction  of  the 
Lot  Dyson  hill,  the  cry  of  a  man  in  mortal 
agony.  It  was  only  a  single  scream,  and 
he  thought  it  possible  he  had  been  mistaken. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  277 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DISAPPEARANCE. 

Farewell!  a  word  that  must  be  and  hath  been — 
A  sound  which  makes  us  linger; — yet — farewell. 

— Byron. 

Time  sped.  The,seasons  rolled  through 
the  beautiful  Autumn  into  the  arms  of  the 
pitiless  Winter.  The  cold  set  in  early  and 
held  on  stiffly  till  the  holidays.  Then  came 
a  change;  and  a  January  thaw,  with  its 
downpours  of  rain,  its  flood  and  mud,  fol 
lowed  directly  after  the  opening  of  the  new 
and  momentous  year.  The  streams  came 
up  with  a  rush  to  almost  unprecedented 
heights  for  a  winter  flood.  The  ice  went 
out  with  rather  more  than  the  usual  disas 
ters  to  the  timbermen  whose  rafts  had  been 
caught  in  the  river  by  the  early  freeze-up 
and  the  absence  of  a  fall  freshet.  But  in  a 
day  or  two  the  river  was  nearly  clear  of  ice, 
though  still  at  flood-tide. 


278          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

George  Holmes  did  not  come  home  till 
some  days  after  New  Year's.  The  family 
were  rejoiced  to  welcome  him  and  he  was 
unaffectedly  glad  to  be  once  more  at  home. 
The  night  after  his  return  he  wrote  his  let 
ter  to  Loraine  and  got  his  sister,  who  was 
on  visiting  terms  at  the  Esmond  homestead, 
to  undertake  to  carry  it  to  her  next  morn 
ing. 

"Be  sure,"  he  said,  "not  to  let  anyone 
but  Loraine  see  this  or  know  anything 
about  it.  If  she  is  not  at  home,  don't  leave 
it  for  her.  Unless  you  can  put  it  in  her 
own  hand,  bring  it  back." 

She  promised  faithfully  to  follow  his  di 
rections,  and  the  next  afternoon  came  back 
and  said  she  had  delivered  the  letter  to  Lo 
raine  herself. 

"Did  she  say  anything  to  you  about  it?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  but  I  found  her  crying  a  little  while 
after,  and  I  think  it  was  about  something  in 
the  letter.  And  then  afterward  she  seemed 
glad  and  cheerful,  as  if  she  had  got  over  it." 

This  is  the  letter  that  he  had  sent  her : 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          279 

"January  6th. 
"My  Darling: 

"I  am  going  away  now  at  the  first  hour 
I  can  find  the  means.  Don't  be  scared  when 
you  hear  I  have  disappeared,  for  I  shall  not 
let  a  soul  here  know  of  my  purpose.  Til. 
does  not  know  what  is  in  this  letter. 
Breathe  not  a  word  of  it  to  a  living  person. 
I  have  put  off  the  old  life  and  the  old 
weakness  and  see  now  with  clear  eyes.  I 
am  a  new  man  from  this  hour  with  the  one 
purpose  put  into  my  heart  by  your  words. 
I  can  wait,  and  you  can.  If  life  is  spared 
me,  time  shall  bring  us  together  again  when 
I  shall  be  worthy  of  you.  Trust  me  and 
wait  for  me.  George." 

In  the  dusk  of  the  evening  he  put  on  his 
overcoat,  for  it  was  chilly,  and  walked 
down  to  look  at  the  river,  picking  his  way 
along  the  ferry  road  to  the  water's  edge, 
where  the  boats  lay.  The  river  was  still  at 
flood  stage,  but  nearly  clear  of  ice  and  drift. 
He  stood  and  looked  at  the  darkening 
stream  a  long  time  in  deep  revery.  "It  is 
hard  to  go  away  without  seeing  her  once 
more,"  he  thought,  "thought  it  seems  best." 


280          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

He  saw,  while  hardly  conscious  of  it,  an 
other  skiff  near  the  one  he  recognized  as 
the  ferryman's.  As  his  revery  passed,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  this  was  what  he  was 
looking  for.  He  stepped  nearer  and  looked 
at  it  closely  in  the  fading  light.  He  recog 
nized  the  boat  as  belonging  to  Raleigh 
Johnson.  It  was  chained  to  a  ring  in  the 
ferry-road  timber,  but  he  noticed  it  was  not 
locked.  He  stepped  into  it  and  found  it  dry 
and  in  good  condition  and  oars  in  the  row 
locks.  He  stood  musing.  What  was  he 
thinking  of?  "It  looks  as  if  this  was  left 
unlocked  just  for  me,"  was  what  he  was 
saying  to  himself.  "Why  not  after  all?" 
His  ear  caught  a  step  as  of  some  one  com 
ing  down  to  the  ferry.  He  could  not  in 
the  gathering  darkness  see  the  person  who 
was  approaching ;  but  he  undid  the  chain 
and,  laying  it  softly  in  the  boat,  shoved  it 
off  the  shore  and,  taking  the  oars,  rowed 
quickly  into  the  gloom  that  now  enveloped 
the  river. 

The  ferryman  had  gone  down  to  see  that 
his  boats  should  not  be  left  aground  by  the 
fall  in  the  river.  He  pushed  them  out  and 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          281 

propped  them  a  little  way  off  shore.  Then 
he  noticed  that  Johnson's  skiff,  which  had 
been  there  an  hour  before,  was  gone,  and 
lie  recalled  the  fancy  that  he  had  heard  the 
dip  of  oars  just  before  he  got  down  to  the 
river.  He  listened  and  peered  into  the  dark 
ness,  but  he  saw  nothing  nor  heard  any 
thing  save  the  eddying  waters  and  their  low 
ripple  as  they  rolled  their  way  onward  to 
the  sea. 


282          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

MYSTERY. 
Pluck  out  the  heart  of  my  mystery. 

— Shakespeare. 

When  bed-time  came  for  the  Holmes 
family  the  evening  after  George  had  left 
the  house  and  had  not  come  in,  they  were 
uneasy,  though  not  alarmed;  for  they  con 
cluded  he  had  gone  to  Esmonds'  to  see 
Loraine.  Let  Jacob  Holmes  tell  this  part  of 
his  story  in  his  own  words  as  they  lie  be 
fore  me : 

"Next  morning — Tuesday  morning,  as 
near  as  I  can  recollect — between  the  hours 
of  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  young  Nick  Es 
mond  came  into  my  shop  inquiring  for  a 
gun  that  George  had  fetched  there  some 
weeks  before.  I  says  to  him:  'There  is 
a  gun  up  in  the  house ;  I  don't  know  whose 
it  is.'  I  went  up  into  the  house  with  him, 
got  the  gun  and  handed  it  to  him.  He 
appeared  to  be  in  a  great  hurry. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          283 

"My  family  asked  him:  'Nick,  did  you 
see  anything  of  George  ?  Or  do  you  know 
anything  about  him?' 

"He  said  he  did  not.  He  went  down  to 
the  shop  and  I  asked  him  the  same  ques 
tion  myself,  thinking  that  he  didn't  just 
like  to  say  before  the  family  where  he  was 
and  that  he  would  tell  me.  But  he  said 
that  he  did  not  know ;  that  he  had  not  saw 
him. 

"A  week  elapsed  until  Sunday.  Sunday 
morning,  I  was  seated  by  my  fire  when  my 
wife  got  up  before  day.  She  exclaimed, 
says  she :  'Jake,  you  must  go  and  see 
about  George.'  I  says  to  her:  'Get  break 
fast  and  I  will  go  down  to  Prim's  (the 
cabin  across  the  river  from  the  elm)  and  I 
will  holler  over  and  see  if  I  can  hear  any 
thing  of  him.' 

"I  went  there  and  called  three  or  four 
times.  At  last  I  saw  Mrs.  Esmond  coming 
from  the  direction  of  the  old  stable  with 
a  tin  bucket  in  her  hand;  and  I  called  her; 
but  the  more  I  called  the  more  she  hur 
ried  and  made  me  no  answer  and  went  into 
the  house. 


284          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"I  then  saw  young  Nick  coming  in  the 
same  direction.  I  called  him  and  he  an 
swered  me.  I  requested  him  to  come  down 
to  me  (to  the  bank  of  the  river),  I  wanted 
to  see  him.  When  he  came  down  I  asked 
him  did  he  know  anything  about  George? 
He  answered  he  did  not  unless  he  was  at 
Tom  Wilmoth's. 

"Said  I:  'Nick,  did  he  tell  you  he  was 
going  to  Tom  Wilmoth's  ?" 

"  'Yes/  in  an  easy  tone ;  but  at  the  same 
time  he  spoke  and  said,  says  he:  'I  will 
go  to  Tom  Wilmoth's  and  I  will  see  and 
let  you  know.' 

"I  said:  'Well,  Nick,  go  to-day  and  let 
me  know.  I  feel  uneasy  about  him.' 

"Nick  never  came  near  my  house;  but 
on  Monday  evening  my  little  boy  John  told 
me  he  heard  Nick  Esmond  tell  Jim  that 
George  was  at  Tom  Wilmoth's.  I  do  not 
know  that  I  made  any  inquiry  of  the  boy 
at  that  time ;  but  after  a  little  Jim  come  in 
and  I  asked  Jim  what  Nick  had  told  him. 
Jim  said  that  Nick  had  said  that  he  had 
started  to  go  to  Tom  Wilmoth's  but  had 
met  John  Harvestry  and  Maria  going  up 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          285 

home,  and  they  had  told  him  George  was  at 
Tom  Wilmoth's.  I  told  Jim  I  did  not  be 
lieve  a  word  of  it. 

"The  next  morning  I  got  a  horse  and 
went  down  to  Wilmoth's,  and  learned  that 
George  was  not  there  and  had  not  been 
since  the  time  he  left  home. 

"I  came  on  home,  when  I  learned  of  the 
family  that  old  Mrs.  Johnson  had  been 
there  and  had  told  about  their  boat  being 
missing.  I  go  down  here  to  Jonas  Blue's 
and  there  find  Raleigh  Johnson.  I  said  to 
him  that  it  appeared  their  boat  was  miss 
ing.  He  asked  me:  'What  about  the  boat?' 
I  said  their  boat  was  missing,  and  George 
was  missing,  and  I  did  not  know  what  to 
make  of  it.  He  replied  that  there  was  no 
danger  of  his  being  drowned,  of  course. 

"I  started  out  from  Jonas  Blue's  to  go 
up  home,  and  saw  Ray  Harris  and  Nick 
Esmond  coming  towards  Blue's.  When  I 
got  here  by  Store's  blacksmith  shop,  Nick 
Esmond  came  running  over  to  me. 

"  'Uncle  Jake,  George  is  at  Tom  Wil 
moth's.' 


286          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"Says  I :  'Nick,  there's  not  a  word  of 
truth  in  it.' 

"He  asked  me,  in  a  kind  of  passion  as  it 
were,  how  did  I  know  ? 

"Says  I :    'I  know  by  going  to  see.' 

"He  then:  'Where  do  you  think,'  he 
says,  'George  is?' 

"Says  I:  'Nick,  I  fear  that  George  is 
not  on  the  land  of  the  living ' 

"When  I  said  that  his  color  left  him  and 
he  became  pale. 

"  'O/  he  says,  'there  is  no  danger.  George 
is  not  drowned,'  said  he,  'for  he  had  a  good 
boat  to  go  over  in  and  he  was  a  good  swim 
mer.' 

"On  Friday,  the  day  before  the  speaking 
of  Lewis  and  Carlile  in  Riverside,  I  went 
over  the  river  to  Jacob  Fontrey's.  When  I 
returned  to  the  skiff,  which  was  the  ferry 
man's,  here  was  Granny  Pugh,  waiting,  as 
I  supposed,  that  she  could  go  over  the 
river.  We  got  into  the  skiff  and  came  over 
the  river;  and  as  we  landed,  or  about  the 
time  of  my  tying  the  skiff,  she  says  to 
me: 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          287 

"  'I  suppose  you  have  heard  from 
George  ?' 

"I  says:     'No,  we  have  not.' 

"  'W7hy,  la  me,  we  heard  you  had  got  a 
letter  from  him  and  he  was  in  Pennsyl 
vania.'  Says  she.  'I  was  over  at  Guy's 
and  I  heard  Guy  tell  his  father  that  George 
had  gone  to  Wheeling  to  enlist.' 

"I  asked  her  where  he  got  that  infor 
mation. 

"She  said  she  didn't  know  unless  it  was 
at  Worthlesston  or  Fairmont.  It  was  the 
same  day  Guy  went  down  to  get  that 
horse  that  had  been  stolen  from  Titchenell's. 
Says  she: 

"  'He  will  be  over  here  tomorrow  at  the 
speaking,  and  you  can  see  him  and  he  will 
tell  you  all  about  it.' 

"I  went  in  the  forenoon  and  found  Guy 
standing  on  Jonas  Blue's  porch.  I  went'  to 
him  and  asked  him,  says  I: 

"  'Where  did  you  get  this  report  that 
George  had  gone  to  Wheeling  tc  enlist  ?' 

"  'Well,'  says  he,  'down  in  Worthless- 
ton.' 


288  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

'  'Well,  who  did  you  hear  speak  about 
it?' 

"He  didn't  know ;  he  believed  it  was 
Enoch  May. 

"Says  I:  'Old  Enoch  May?  I  do  not 
know  him.' 

"  'It  is  Hence's  son,  a  truthful  and  cred 
ible  boy,'  says  he. 

"  'But,'  says  he,  'I  am  going  down  to-mor 
row  and  I  will  let  you  know  all  about  it.' 

"He  was  to  let  me  know  on  Monday. 
'Very  well,'  said  I.  Monday  came  and  I 
went  down  and  he  was  standing  on  the 
out-porch  in  front  of  the  house. 

'  'Well,'  said  I,  'Guy,  this  rumor  con 
cerning  George?' 

"  'O,'  he  says,  'it  is  to  Pittsburgh.' 

"Well,  on  Tuesday  I  went  to  Worthless- 
ton  and  hunted  up  May  and  asked  him  how 
did  he  get  the  information  that  George  had 
gone  to  Wheeling  or  Pittsburgh  to  enlist? 
Guy  Esmond  had  told  him  so  the  time  he 
was  down  getting  that  horse  he  had  taken 
from  Titchenell's.'  ' 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  289 

Somewhere  about  this  time,  the  wife  of 
a  physician  named  Irman,  living  in  prop 
erty  adjoining  the  Blue  Boar  tavern,  was 
one  evening  in  an  out-building  that  stood 
against  the  rear  of  the  Blue  Boar  smoke 
house.  The  board-walls  of  both  buildings 
were  sufficiently  open  of  joint  to  allow 
conversation  on  one  side  to  be  plainly  heard 
en  the  other. 

The  landlord  and  his  wife  were  in  the 
smoke-house.  He  was  telling  her  of  some 
body  that  had  been  killed — or  was  to  be, 
she  could  not  make  out  which,  not  having 
heard  the  beginning  of  the  conversation. 
But  she  heard  him  say  it  was  "because  he 
was  known  to  all  this  burglary;"  they  had 
become  "afraid  he  would  turn  State's  evi 
dence  and  send  us  all  to  the  penitentiary." 

His  wife  asked:  "What  do  you  mean 
when  you  say  'burglary'?" 

"Why,"  he  replied,  "this  stealing  of 
goods  and  horses,  and  all  this  that  was 
done ;"  and  they  had  "thought  it  best  to  put 
him  out  of  the  road." 

She  asked  him:  "Had  you  any  hand  in 
this  business  ?" 


290          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "but  I  am  known  to  it 
all." 

Mrs.  Irman,  knowing  of  George 
Holmes'  disappearance,  and  also  of  his  re 
lations  to  the  Esmonds  and  of  theirs  to  the 
landlord  of  the  Blue  Boar — all  of  which 
was  notorious  to  everybody  in  the  village 
— did  not  doubt  the  conversation  related  to 
him.  She  became  frightened  and  ran  to 
the  house,  afraid  to  hear  more,  for  she  re 
alized  it  was  a  dangerous  secret.  She  told 
some  family  friends,  who  advised  her  to 
keep  her  own  counsel ;  but  some  hint  of  the 
matter  leaked  out,  and  it  preyed  on  her  so 
that  she  kept  the  door  locked  when  her  hus 
band  was  out,  and  finally  left  the  village 
and  went  to  friends  at  Fairmont.  It  was 
given  out  by  somebody  in  the  village  that 
she  was  "crazy."  .In  an  interview  Jacob 
Holmes  had  with  her  February  27th  at 
Fairmont,  Mrs.  Irman  made  these  state 
ments,  which  were  confirmed  by  her  hus 
band  as  having  been  made  to  him  at  the 
time.  "All  but  the  crazy,"  she  said ;  "I  was 
only  afraid." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM.  291 

It  soon  became  widely  known  that  young 
Holmes  had  disappeared.  Knowing  all  the 
things  he  did  pointing  to  a  tragedy,  the 
poor  old  man  felt  there  could  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  fate  that  had  overtaken  his  boy. 
But  he  was  powerless  to  bring  the  slayers 
to  justice.  While  a  great  deal  of  interest — 
even  excitement — was  felt  in  the  community 
when  all  the  suspicious  circumstances  be 
came  known,  nobody  offered  any  practical 
help;  and  public  excitement  over  the  ap 
proaching  election  for  members  of  the  Rich 
mond  convention,  the  issue  of  which  all  felt 
would  be  secession  and  war,  overshadowed 
any  mere  matter  of  local  crime  and  personal 
bereavement,  however  distressing. 


292  THE   DAUGHTER   OF  THE  ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

DISINTEGRATION. 
Fold   their  tents,   like   the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steel  away. 

— Longfellow. 

Events  were  thickening.  Clouds  on  the 
national  horizon  were  darkening.  The  Con 
vention  at  Richmond  had  met ;  and  while 
the  loudest  voice  was  for  "the  Union,"  it 
was  accompanied  by  qualifications.  All 
felt  the  crisis  in  the  air.  There  was  through 
all  the  land  an  ominous  rumbling  like  the 
forerunner  of  an  earthquake.  Matters  of 
local  concern  that  would  have  been  ordi 
narily  provocative  of  the  keenest  interest 
took  secondary  place  at  the  evening  gath 
erings  in  shops  and  stores  or  on  the  street 
corners  where  groups  assembled.  Yet  the 
minor  tragedies  of  life,  like  the  one  we  are 
following,  went  on  their  several  courses,  de 
spite  the  overshadowing  tragedy  preparing 
for  the  nation. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          293 

Disintegration  among  the  bandits  had  set 
in.  They  were  not  only  feeling  the  general 
disturbance,  but  special  reasons  had  tran 
spired,  promotive  of-  a  break-up.  For  the 
first  time  in  the  history  of  the  gang  two  of 
its  subordinate  but  indispensable  members 
felt  themselves  able  to  go  away  and 
take  care  of  themselves.  A  few  days  after 
the  disappearance  of  Holmes,  Lynn  John 
son  got  out  his  horse  and  set  off  up  the 
river.  He  told  Harry  Esmond  he  had  been 
thinking  for  some  time  of  making  a  trip 
into  one  of  the  upper  counties  to  see  if  some 
better  opportunities  could  not  be  found 
there  for  an  honest  citizen  to  make  his  liv 
ing.  He  thought  he  would  be  able  to 
persuade  Tarbert  to  go  with  him.  and  ex 
pressed  the  belief  that  this  was  a  good  local 
ity  to  be  away  from  for  a  while. 

Harry  acknowledged  that  he  also  had 
been  looking  forward  to  a  time  when  this 
part  of  the  country  would  be  too  hot  to 
hold  them.  Perhaps  that  time  was  not  so 
far  away.  "Keep  me  advised  where  you  are. 
Maybe  you  will  see  more  of  us  before  a 
great  while." 


294          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

Next  day  Dyson  mentioned  to  the  elder 
Esmond  that  he  had  thought  some  of  mov 
ing  up  on  Jones'  Run  this  spring,  where  he 
had  heard  of  a  place  he  could  rent  on  the 
shares  to  good  advantage. 

"Why,  Lot,"  said  Mr.  Esmond,  "what  do 
you  want  to  go  away  for?  You  can  make 
more  money,  and  make  it  easier,  than  by 
farming." 

"Well,  you  know,  Uncle  Nickie,"  replies 
Lot,  with  his  grim  smile,  "a  change  of  pas 
ture  is  sometimes  good  for  sheep." 

Esmond  mentioned  the  matter  to  Harry. 
"I  wonder  what's  in  the  wind,"  said  the 
latter.  "Johnson  has  gone,  and  now  Lot 
wants  to  go.  It  will  break  us  all  up.  Are 
they  afraid  to  stay  here,  I  wonder?" 

That  evening  Harry  Esmond  went  to  the 
Blue  Boar. 

"What  is  all  this,  'Jone,'  about  the  dis 
appearance  of  Holmes  ?" 

Blue  looked  at  him  curiously.  "You 
ought  to  know  if  any  one  does." 

"But  I  don't,"  says  Harry,  "or  I  wouldn't 
have  asked  vou." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          295 

Blue:  "You  know  it  was  all  settled  that 
he  had  to  be  put  out  of  the  way.  There 
was  no  other  way  to  make  ourselves  safe." 

"Yes,  I  know  that;  but  none  of  our  fel 
lows  knows  who  did  it.  That's  the  queer 
thing  about  it.  Our  intention  was  good 
enough,  but  who  has  carried  it  out?" 

"Don't  Lot  or  Lynn  know  about  it?" 
queried  Jonas. 

"They  say  not,"  replied  Harry.  "But 
Lynn  has  gone  away  and  now  Lot  talks 
about  wanting  to  move  up  on  Jones'  Run.  I 
don't  understand  it  all." 

"Would  you  think  it  possible,"  continued 
Esmond,  after  a  little  consideration,  as  if  he 
did  not  quite  like  to  make  the  suggestion, 
"that  these  two  could  have  come  across 
George  somewhere  by  accident  and  dis 
patched  him  and  concluded  to  keep  it  a  se 
cret  from  the  rest?" 

"If  they  thought  he  had  a  few  dollars  in 
his  pocket,  they  might.  You  know  $10 
would  be  a  prize  to  either  of  them." 

"You  know  George  came  home  just  after 
New  Year's,"  remarked  Harry. 


296          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

"Yes,  and  it  wouldn't  be  strange  if  he 
started  to  go  down  to  your  house  to  see 
L,oraine,"  remarked  Blue. 

"That  would  be  very  probable,"  said 
Harry.  "When  Johnson  was  going  away," 
he  resumed,  "he  said  he  thought  this  was 
a  good  place  to  be  away  from;  and  Lot 
said  a  change  of  pasture  was  good  for 
sheep,  when  he  told  old  Nickie  about  want 
ing  to  move  away." 

"It  looks  as  if  they  were  afraid  of  some 
thing,"  said  Blue. 

"It  does,  for  a  fact." 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.          297 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


GIVEN  UP  BY   THE    RIVER. 

It  is  a  wise  father  that  knows  his  own  child. 

— Shakespeare. 


One  Sunday  morning  in  March,  a  horse 
man  came  into  the  village  from  below  by 
the  Fairmont  pike  and  turning  up  Ferry 
street  rode  up  to  the  Holmes  residence 
and  dismounted.  One  of  the  daughters  was 
on  the  porch  and  walked  towards  him  with 
inquiring  looks  as  he  came  forward.  He 
asked  if  this  was  where  Mr  Holmes  lived 
and  she  answered,  yes. 

"I  am  afraid  I  have  sad  news  for  you," 
he  said. 

The  girl  divined  on  the  instant  that  it 
was  something  about  her  missing  brother, 
and  her  heart  stood  still. 

"A  body  was  found  this  morning  in  the 
river  at  Worthlesston,"  the  man  went  on, 
"and  knowing  George  is  missing,  people 
there  think  it  may  be  his." 


298          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

The  mother,  who  had  been  standing  just 
within  the  door,  had  heard  the  conversa 
tion  and  stepped  out  on  the  porch  as  these 
words'  were  spoken.  "O,  my  God !"  she 
screamed  and  fell  insensible,  Mr.  Holmes, 
hearing  the  commotion,  came  out  and  the 
stranger  repeated  his  statement  to  him 
while  the  girl  went  to  the  assistance  of  her 
mother.  "I  am  not  surprised,"  he  said, 
calmly.  "It  is  no  more  than  I  expected. 
I  will  get  my  horse  and  go  with  you." 

At  Worthlesston,  a  lad  named  Price  had 
after  breakfast  walked  down  to  the  river 
bluff,  which  along  the  village  front  lies 
rather  low.  The  recent  freshets  had  depos 
ited  a  good  deal  of  drift  on  top  of  the  bluff, 
and  he  was  picking  his  way  over  this  and 
looking  down  in  an  idle  way  into  drifts  that 
had  in  some  places  accumulated  along  the 
river's  edge.  He  came  to  a  large  tree  which, 
undermined  by  the  current,  had  toppled  into 
the  river  and,  being  held  by  the  roots,  had 
been  swept  around  near  the  shore.  Among 
the  branches  of  the  tree  his  eyes  caught 
something  that  looked  like  a  cast-off  gar 
ment  just  showing  above  the  water.  With 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM.          299 

idle  curiosity  he  walked  out  on  the  body  of 
the  tree  and  climbing  down  one  of  the  large 
limbs  was  able  to  reach  the  object  that  had 
caught  his  attention.  He  thought  it  looked 
like  a  man's  coat,  and  taking  hold  of  it  to 
lift  it  out  of  the  water,  found  it  resisted  the 
effort,  but  answering  the  pull,  the  body  of  a 
man  came  to  the  surface  and  turned  over, 
showing  him  the  face  horribly  swollen,  dis 
torted  and  mutilated.  The  lad,  shocked  and 
frightened,  quickly  got  back  to  the  shore 
and  gave  the  alarm.  A  crowd  soon  gath 
ered,  a  skiff  was  procured  and  the  body 
towed  to  a  landing  place  and  drawn  out  on 
the  shore.  Boards  were  procured,  a  hasty 
stretcher  improvised  and  the  body  carried 
to  the  platform  in  front  of  the  Martin 
house,  where  it  was  laid  to  await  official  in 
quiry. 

William  Good,  coroner,  empaneled  a 
jury,  who  now  only  awaited  the  return  of 
the  messenger  with  Mr.  Holmes. 

George  Holmes  had  been  well  known  in 
the  village  and  all  knew  of  his  disap 
pearance  two  months  before.  The  condition 
and  especially  the  mutilation  of  the  face 


300  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

made  recognition  impossible,  but  the  pre 
sumption  was  it  was  the  body  of  Holmes. 
A  suggestion  was  raised  whether  this 
might  not  be  the  stranger  who  was  sup 
posed  to  have  been  murdered  the  time  the 
stray  horse  was  found,  but  it  was  not  seri 
ously  entertained. 

When  Jacob  Holmes,  with  drawn  fea 
tures  and  red  but  tearless  eyes,  came  for 
ward  to  look  at  the  body,  the  crowd  drew 
back  respectfully  to  make  way.  He  paused 
before  the  unsightly  spectacle,  all  that  was 
left  as  he  supposed  of  his  own  son ;  looked 
at  the  face — what  was  left  of  it — long  and 
anxiously ;  at  the  hair ;  at  the  clothing.  The 
hair  was  matted  and  filled  with  mud  and 
something  that  appeared  to  be  coal  dust. 
The  clothing  was  so  filled  and  covered 
with  the  mud  and  slime  of  the  river  it  was 
hard  to  discern  the  texture  of  the  cloth,  still 
less  its  color.  The  flesh  was  so  swollen 
and  decayed  recognition  unless  by  some 
special  mark  was  impossible ;  and  it  looked 
as  if  the  mutilation  of  the  features  had  been 
intentional.  The  old  man  lookecl  long  and 
doubtfully  and  seemed  for  a  time  to  lose 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          301 

himself  in  revery.  At  length  he  said: 
"This  looks  like  a  coat  that  George  wore 
about  a  year  ago;  the  buttons  and  the 
binding  are  the  same ;  but  it  was  not  the 
coat  he  had  on  when  he  went  away.  I 
hardly  know  what  to  think.  It  must  be 
George,  but  no  one  can  tell.  That  is  about 
all  I  can  say." 

The  jury  found  that  the  deceased,  who 
v\as  to  them  unknown,  had  come  to  his 
death  from  causes  undiscovered.  Mr. 
Holmes  believing,  and  the  coroner  concur 
ring,  that  it  was  the  body  of  his  son,  was 
allowed  to  take  the  remains  for  burial.  They 
were  taken  to  Riverside,  directly  to  the 
grave,  and  buried  in  the  old  graveyard  on 
the  hill  overlooking  the  river,  over  against 
the  great  hill  on  the  other  side  then  known 
as  the  Lot  Dyson  hill,  where  Mr.  Holmes 
believed  his  son  had  met  his  death. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  excitement  in 
Riverside  over  the  finding  of  the  body,  but 
it  resulted  in  nothing.  Very  few,  if  any, 
doubted  that  it  was  Holmes.  It  was  open 
to  doubt  in  the  minds  of  some  whether  he 
had  been  accidentally  drowned  or  foully 


302          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

dealt  with  and  thrown  in  the  river.  The 
appearance  of  coal  grime  in  the  hair  gave 
color  to  the  latter  opinion. 


There  was  one  more  who  was  deeply, 
painfully,  interested  in  the  finding  of  this 
body.  When  the  word  of  George's  disap 
pearance  was  brought  to  the  house  by  Ray 
Harris,  it  was  the  subject  of  mysterious, 
sometimes  whispered,  conversations  about 
the  house.  The  family  all  understood  it  was 
a  blow  to  Loraine  and  avoided  speech  with 
her  on  the  subject,  and  took  care  she 
should  not  hear  what  they  said  among 
themselves.  Though  startled  by  the  re 
port,  she  had  felt  no  real  alarm,  relying  on 
the  words  of  his  farewell  letter  which  had 
prepared  her  for  just  such  news.  But 
when  she  got  the  word  two  months  later 
of  the  finding  of  the  body  at  V/orthlesston, 
she  was  frightened.  She  did  not  hear  it 
till  after  the  burial.  Then  she  went  straight 
to  George's  family  and  had  long  and  tear 
ful  interviews  with  the  mother  and  sisters 
and  with  Mr.  Holmes.  He  was  the  only 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  303 

one  of  the  family  that  admitted  any  doubts. 
He  admitted  it  was  impossible  to  identify 
the  body  as  George's,  and  he  was  puzzled 
by  the  only  other  thing  that  could  have 
furnished  a  clew,  the  clothing.  His  convic 
tion  arose  more  from  corroborative  circum 
stances  than  from  evidence  furnished  by  the 
corpse.  Loraine  knew,  what  she  could  not 
mention,  that  Hooker  had  disappeared  in 
that  vicinity  a  few  days  before  George. 
Why  might  not  this  body  be  his?  To  try 
to  comfort  the  Holmes  family,  she  showed 
them  the  letter  George  had  sent  her  the 
day  before  his  disappearance.  They  hoped 
she  might  be  right  in  her  belief  in  his  safety, 
but  they  were  not  convinced,  for  if  this  were 
not  George's  body  whose  was  it?  That 
was  a  question  she  dared  not  answer;  and 
they  settled  down  to  an  acceptance  of 
George's  death  as  the  sorrowful  truth. 


304          THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


PRINCE    BOUNTIFUL. 

A  fellow  feeling  makes  one  wondrous  kind. 

— Garrick. 


The  time  is  a  week  after  the  last  inter 
view  between  Jonas  Blue  and  Harry  Es 
mond  ;  the  place  the  old  Despard  resort  in 
Clarksburg;  the  personae,  Lynn  Johnson, 
Elias  Tarbert  and  Abe  Keifer.  They  are 
not  playing,  but  strolling  around  looking 
on  at  the  game.  They  have  just  sat  down 
in  a  corner,  out  of  ear-shot,  and  putting 
their  heads  together  begin  a  confidential 
talk. 

"I  didn't  see  Hooker,"  remarks  Keifer, 
"as  he  came  back,  but  I  hear  he  went 
through  by  Esmonds'.  A  friend  told  me 
his  job  panned  out  well." 

"He  seemed  in  fine  spirits  at  Esmonds', " 
says  Johnson.  "He  got  there  just  in  time 
for  the  Christmas  dinner  and  left  the  next 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          305 

evening.  He  rode  that  last  horse  you  sent 
down,  Eli,  and  was  to  market  him  and  send 
back  the  money." 

"I  hope  he  will  hurry  it  along,"  said  Tar- 
bert,  laughingly.  "Times  are  pretty  hard 
with  me." 

"I  could  lend  you  a  little  if  you  really 
need  it." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  returns  Tarbert.  "I 
expect  to  meet  some  friends  here  to-morrow 
and  I  would  like  to  treat  them  white,  and 
you  know  it  takes  money  to  do  it  " 

"Would  a  fifty  do  you?"  asks  Johnson, 
with  the  air  of  a  millionaire,  thrusting  fin 
ger  and  thumb  into  his  vest  pocket. 

"You  make  my  head  swim,"  laughs  Tar 
bert. 

Johnson  takes  a  roll  from  his  vest  pocket 
and  drawing  from  it  a  $50  bill  hands  it  to 
Tarbert,  who  looks  at  it  incredulously,  as 
if  the  transaction  could  not  be  real.  "This 
is  not  'queer,'  is  it?"  laughing  again. 

"When  you  are  in  luck  and  I  am  in 
need,"  pursues  Johnson  loftily,  "you  can 
give  it  back  to  me." 


306  THE   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   ELM. 

Keifer  looks  on  surprised.  He  had  never 
seen  Johnson  with  so  much  money.  "You 
seem  to  be  flush,"  he  observes  to  Lynn  in 
a  jocular  way. 

"You  know  I  have  an  income  from  my 
estates  in  Spain,"  says  Johnson,  gravely. 

"In  your  mind,"  laughs  Keifer. 

"Now,  boys,"  says  Johnson,  with  a  busi 
ness  air,  "I  have  come  into  this  country  just 
to  get  you  two  together.  Things  are  dull 
down  our  way.  Harry  is  laying  off  and  is 
not  disposed  to  undertake  anything  fresh, 
and  the  rest  of  us  have  got  to  dc  something 
on  our  own  account  or  starve," 

"You  won't  starve,"  says  Keifer,  "as  long 
as  your  pockets  are  lined  with  $50  bills  like 
that  one." 

"How  are  you  fixed,  Abe?"  asks  John 
son,  to  whom  it  just  occurs  that  Keifer  does 
not  seem  quite  happy.  "Are  you  hard  up, 
too?" 

"Well,  the  fact  is,"  replies  Keifer,  a  trifle 
embarrassed,  "I  really  am.  I  had  thought 
of  asking  you  to  lend  me  a  ten,  but  Eli  got 
there  first  and  I  didn't  like  to  ride  a  free 
horse  too  hard." 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  307 

Johnson  takes  out  the  roll  again  and  ex 
tracts  from  it  another  fifty  and  lays  it  in 
Keifer's  palm.  "This  is  the  privilege  of  a 
friend,"  he  says,  grandly.  "You  may  be 
flush  sometime  when  I  am  broke;  and,  be 
sides,  it  isn't  fair  to  discriminate  between 
friends." 

"I  hope  to  be  able  to  return  this  before 
long,"  remarks  Keifer,  to  pass  the  matter 
off  a  little  more  gracefully. 

"Just  what  I  want  to  plan  for,"  says 
Johnson.  "We  three  ought  not  to  separate 
until  we  have  found  a  place  where  we  can 
collect  some  revenue.  Now  what  do  you 
say?" 

With  heads  drawn  closer  together,  and 
occasional  furtive  glances  around  to  see  if 
they  were  observed  or  could  be  overheard, 
the  conference  went  on  for  a  long  time. 
At  last  they  went  out  to  the  bar,  took  a 
drink  all  around  at  Johnson's  expense  and 
left  the  place. 


308  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

ENFRANCHISEMENT. 

Who  would  be  free  themselves  must  strike   the 
blow.  — Byron. 

The  struggle  George  Holmes  went 
through  that  night  at  the  ferry  with  the 
river  before  him  and  the  skiff  providentially 
at  hand  to  carry  him  whither  he  would,  was 
over  the  question  whether  he  should  cross 
the  river  for  one  more  visit  to  Loraine,  or 
at  once,  taking  the  boat  as  a  means  put  in 
his  way,  go  straight  down  the  river  to  the 
promised  land  for  which  he  was  looking. 
His  purpose  had  wavered  wildly  during 
the  few  minutes  of  his  hesitation.  The  ap 
proach  of  the  ferryman  had  precipitated  a 
decision ;  for  no  sooner  did  he  find  himself 
in  mid-stream,  with  a  good  boat  beneath 
his  feet,  than  his  original  purpose  came 
back  to  him  in  all  its  strength.  He  re 
membered  he  had  said  to  Loraine  he  would 
go  the  moment  he  found  the  means  and 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  309 

would  not  see  her  again.  Here  was  the 
means  at  his  hand.  If  his  resolution  was 
ever  to  be  good  for  anything  he  must  keep 
it  now.  He  had  only  to  let  the  river  carry 
him.  Now  if  ever  he  must  put  aside  every 
thing  but  the  one  purpose  to  which  he  "was 
pledged  by  all  he  held  dear. 

He  trimmed  the  boat  to  the  swift  current, 
and  dipping  the  oars  with  arms  nerved  with 
new  hope  and  energy,  sent  it  swiftly  down 
the  stream.  The  river  had  fallen  consider 
ably,  as  he  could  see  on  the  shores,  some 
times  dimly  visible  in  the  starlight,  but  it 
was  still  high  enough  to  carry  him  smoothly 
over  all  the  dams.  He  was  a  good  boat 
man,  not  afraid  of  the  water;  and  he  had 
his  wages  in  his  pocket. 

And  now  there  was  nothing  but  a  few 
hours  between  him  and  a  new  life,  with 
security  and  the  whole  world  before  him 
from  which  to  wrest  fortune  and  reward. 
He  was  gliding  swiftly  towards  that  land 
of  freedom,  indexed  by  the  North  star,  to 
wards  which  many  a  fugitive  with  black 
skin  had  turned  his  longing  eyes.  To  him 
it  meant  freedom,  too,  although  his  skin 


310          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

was  white;  for  he  was  running  away  from 
the  slavery  of  crime  and  degradation  to  a 
land  where,  God  helping  him,  he  meant  to 
find  the  enfranchisement  of  a  better  life. 
Running  away,  too — he  could  not  forget — 
from  her  who  was  more  to  him  than  all  the 
rest  of  the  world,  than  life  itself;  who  em 
bodied  all  that  he  loved,  hoped  for,  was 
going  to  work  for;  from  whom — strange 
paradox — he  must  run  away  as  the  only 
possible  means  of  his  ever  being  united  to 
her! 

A  mile  below,  he  passed  the  great  elm 
and  saw  it  towering  giant-like  between  him 
and  the  sky.  He  could  not  see  the  old 
house  beyond,  but  his  thoughts  went  out  to 
her  under  its  roof  who  he  felt  must  be  at 
that  moment  thinking  of  him ;  whom  it 
might  be  years  before  he  could  see — whom 
he  might  never  see  again;  and  he  regis 
tered  a  fresh  vow  to  rescue  her  from  the 
accursed  place  at  the  earliest  hour  Heaven 
would  let  him. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          311 


CHAPTER  XXXVIT. 

CLOSING    ACCOUNTS. 

Our  acts  our  angels  are,  or  good  or  ill, 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still. 

— John  Fletcher. 

The  storm  has  burst.  The  shot  that  was 
heard  around  the  world  has  been  fired  at 
Sumter.  Its  reverberations  have  rolled 
from  Charleston  Harbor  to  the  Golden 
Gate,  and  back  to  the  piney  woods  of 
Maine.  Abraham  Lincoln  has  called  for 
men  to  defend  the  integrity  of  the  Federal 
Union,  and  nobly  has  the  call  been  re 
sponded  to. 

May  brought  the  first  invasion  of  the 
"sacred  soil"  by  the  "Lincoln  hirelings," 
who  came  to  coerce  the  sovereign  Old 
Dominion  into  obedience  to  the  national 
authority.  They  crossed  the  Ohio  at  Park- 
ersburg  and  advanced  over  the  Baltimore  & 
Ohio  Railroad  to  Grafton,  dropping  a  de 
tachment  at  the  old  Harrison  County  town 


312          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

as  a  point  of  important  strategic  value.  The 
secessionists  of  Clarksburg  hastily  retired 
before  the  advance  of  General  Morris' 
troops  and  sought  safety  within  Porter- 
field's  lines  at  Phillippa.  Away  from  the 
railroad  numerous  nests  of  othei  secession 
ists  were  organizing  to  join  the  Southern 
army.  One  of  these  was  at  Peter  B.  Right- 
er's,  some  four  miles  east  of  Riverside, 
where  men  were  nightly  gathered  and 
drilled  by  John  Righter,  who  afterwards 
became  the  captain  of  a  guerrilla  band  in 
the  Rebel  service.  Union  neighbors  of  the 
Righter  farm  became  alarmed  at  these  dem 
onstrations  and  went  to  the  commandant  at 
Clarksburg  with  their  complaint  A  com 
pany  of  Ohio  troops  was  sent  down  to  the 
place.  They  burned  the  Righter  homestead, 
broke  up  the  rendezvous  and  struck  a 
wholesome  terror  through  all  that  region. 

The  Esmonds  were  as  bitter  secessionists 
as  the  Righters,  and  their  place  was  rapidly 
becoming  another  rallying  point  for  gather 
ing  recruits  for  the  Confederate  army.  The 
example  made  of  the  Righter  place  put  a 
summary  stop  to  the  work.  It  warned 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  313 

them  what  they  might  expect  if  complaint 
should  be  carried  to  Clarksburg,  and  they 
became  alarmed.  The  Righters,  father  and 
son,  had  adroitly  escaped  arrest  and  made 
their  way  through  the  Confederate  lines ; 
but  others  might  not  be  so  successful;  and 
the  Esmonds  knew  they  had  other  than  po 
litical  reasons  for  avoiding  the  possibility 
of  arrest.  In  the  event  of  military  inter 
ference,  there  was  no  assurance  St.  George 
or  Bernard  might  not  appear  on  the  ground 
and  prosecute  a  search  that  they  had  not  yet 
dared  attempt. 

Harry  Esmond  saw  the  time  he  had 
looked  forward  to  had  come.  The  neigh 
borhood  was  too  hot  for  him.  So  after  one 
more  visit  to  his  friend  of  the  Blue  Boar, 
who  was  thoroughly  frightened  at  the  out 
look,  and  quietly  securing  on  his  person  a 
considerable  sum  of  money  he  had  been 
keeping  in  a  safe  place,  he  one  night  mount 
ed  his  horse,  bade  the  family  adieu,  and 
accompanied  by  Dyson,  rode  away — up  the 
river,  out  of  the  neighborhood,  and  out  of 
this  history  save  what  is  related  in  another 
paragraph. 


314          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

When  Dyson  bade  good-bye  to  the  elder 
Esmond  he  said : 

"I  told  you,  Uncle  Nickie,  sheep  had  to 
have  a  change  of  pasture  sometimes." 

"Well,  Lot,  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for 
sheep-killing  dogs,"  was  the  old  man's 
reply. 

Some  years  after  the  war  the  writer  of 
these  pages  learned,  from  a  source  entitled 
to  be  believed,  that  Harry  Esmond,  under 
another  name,  was  living  in  the  French 
Creek  Valley,  in  Upshur  County,  West 
Virginia ;  that  he  had  married  there  and 
was  pursuing  the  life  of  a  quiet,  law-abid 
ing  citizen. 


When  the  Third  West  Virginia  Mounted 
Infantry  was  on  service  near  Bulltown  and 
Salt  Lick  Bridge,  in  October,  1863,  where 
they  had  been  fighting  a  force  believed  to  be 
under  the  command  of  Jackson,  horse- 
thieves  made  a  raid  on  Capt.  Roane's  com 
pany  and  ran  off  a  dozen  of  their  best 
horses.  Pursuit  was  made  by  Lieut.  Clarke, 
with  a  detachment  of  picked  men,  and  with 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          315 

such  success  that  the  thieves  who  were 
finding  their  market  within  the  Confeder 
ate  lines,  were  overtaken  in  Webster  Coun 
ty,  while  eating  breakfast  around  their  camp 
fire.  A  volley  from  the  pursuers  brought 
down,  killed  or  wounded,  all  the  gang  but 
one,  who  escaped;  and  among  the  killed, 
Clarke  and  several  of  his  men,  who  were 
from  Clarksburg,  recognized  our  old  friends 
Dyson  and  Johnson.  True  to  their  thievish 
instincts  and  habits  they  had  been  following 
their  old  trade  along  the  border  between 
the  armies ;  but  they  had  tempted  fate  once 
too  often  and  had  at  last  met  the  summary 
justice  that  had  been  looking  for  them  many 
a  year. 


George  Holmes,  who  had  stopped  for  a 
time  at  Brownsville,  was  drawn  by  the 
growing  excitement  to  Pittsburgh,  with 
other  young  men  who  shared  with  him  the 
universal  indignation  and  patriotic  ardor  of 
that  time.  He  joined  them  in  enlistment 
in  the  Thirteenth  Pennsylvania  three- 
months  men,  Col.  Rowley. 


316          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

Holmes  seemed  transformed  by  the  cri 
sis  and  the  occasion.  There  was  an  energy 
about  him  that  could  not  but  attract  atten 
tion.  Nothing  was  too  much  trouble  for 
him ;  no  work  too  hard.  He  had  gone  into 
the  service  with  all  his  might,  and  in  all 
he  did  was  driven  by  a  motive  so  imperi 
ous  that  it  seemed  to  endow  him  with  new 
faculties  and  an  energy  that  knew  no  ex 
haustion.  He  set  himself  with  diligence  to 
learn  the  manual  of  arms,  all  the  duties  of 
camp  and  drill,  the  evolutions  of  the  field — 
everything  connected  with  his  new  func 
tions  as  a  soldier.  He  became  so  proficient 
that  he  was  often  set  to  drilling  the  com 
pany  and  was  soon  marked  for  promotion. 
But  the  three  months  expired  before  the 
regiment  got  into  the  active  field.  He  went 
back  to  Pittsburgh  and  promptly  re-enlisted 
in  a  company  organized  by  the  Brownsville 
man  who  had  befriended  him  when  he  land 
ed  there.  This  man  had  been  a  friend  of 
his  father  in  the  old  times,  had  received 
George  into  his  home,  and  now  in  the  or 
ganization  of  his  company  was  able  to  start 
him  with  the  rank  of  first  lieutenant. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          317 

The  company  was  mustered  into  the  Six 
ty-first  Pennsylvania,  Col.  Rippey ;  a  regi 
ment  that  made  a  brilliant  and  memorable 
record,  passing  through  the  engagements 
of  Opequon,  Fisher's  Hill,  Cedar  Creek, 
Antietam,  Gettysburg,  Fair  Oaks,  Malvern 
Hill,  Cold  Harbor,  Spottsylvania,  Wilder 
ness,  Petersburg.  Holmes  shared  all  the 
fortunes  of  this  noble  regiment,  fighting 
with  conspicuous  bravery  in  the  most  hotly 
contested  fields;  yet  except  a  slight  wound 
at  Fisher's  Hill,  which  could  not  drive  him 
from  the  field,  he  went  through  the  war 
without  a  scratch.  His  captain  and  friend 
fell  in  the  Wilderness  and  Holmes  was 
made  Captain. 

The  term  of  the  regiment  expired  in  Sep 
tember,  1864;  but  the  "veterans,"  of  whom 
Holmes  was  one,  were  retained  till  the  close 
of  the  war,  and  not  mustered  out  till  June, 
1865. 

Ardent  a  soldier  as  Holmes  had  been,  not 
one  of  all  the  million  of  men  who  laid  down 
their  arms  was  more  eager  than  he  to  get 
away  from  Washington,  where  the  regi 
ment  was  disbanded. 


318          THE  DAUGHTER  OP  THE  ELM. 

Prior  to  this  Jacob  Holmes,  broken  by 
misfortune,  had  sold  out  and  removed  to 
the  more  thriving  town  of  Massingham, 
on  the  Baltimore  &  Ohio  railroad,  which 
afterwards  became  an  oil  center  and  place 
of  business  importance.  The  family  had 
been  there  but  a  short  time  when  they  re 
ceived  from  Loraine  a  letter  she  had  from 
George,  telling  her  he  had  just  closed  his 
three  years  in  the  Union  army  and  re- 
enlisted  for  the  war.  He  said  the  end  of 
his  term  seemed  to  mark  a  period  that  en 
titled  him  to  let  her  know  where  he  was 
and  what  he  was  doing.  He  asked  that 
she  would  communicate  with  his  family  and 
write  him  at  once  all  that  had  occurred 
since  he  left.  To  the  stricken  family  this 
was  like  a  message  from  the  dead ;  but 
they  had  long  since  learned  to  keep  their 
own  counsel  and  did  not  repeat  the  happy 
news  outside  their  own  relatives. 

The  information  that  George  received  in 
return  showed  him  that  the  change  in  him 
self  and  his  fortunes  was  not  the  only 
change  time  had  wrought.  He  could  now 
go  back  to  the  old  place  and  to  Loraine 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  319 

without  danger  of  assassination  or  other 
interference;  and  even  had  there  been  dan 
ger,  it  was  nothing  to  him  now,  with  his 
larger  manhood  and  firmer  purpose. 


Years  after  the  close  of  the  civil  war, 
the  writer  of  these  pages  was  carried  by 
the  currents  of  life  and  business  to  Pitts 
burgh,  and  was  resident  in  the  smoky  me 
tropolis  for  many  subsequent  years.  While 
there  he  became  well  acquainted  with  the 
gentleman  who  figures  in  this  history  as 
Allan  St.  George. 

St.  George  was  caught  up  in  the  whirl 
wind  of  patriotic  wrath  that  swept  the 
northern  states  and  cities  after  the  firing  on 
Sumter.  He  went  into  the  army,  with  some 
of  his  office  associates,  to  the  neglect,  it  is 
to  be  regretted,  of  more  than  one  duty  like 
the  search  for  McKinney,  which  had  to 
give  way  before  the  grander  duty  that  sum 
moned  men  to  the  field  of  conflict.  He 
came  out  of  the  war  with  the  less  of  a  limb 
but  with  a  star  on  his  shoulder  and  an  hon 
ored  name. 


320  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

In  an  exchange  of  reminiscences,  he  men 
tioned  once  his  detective  experiences  in  the 
upper  Monongahela  valley,  and  inquiry 
brought  out  the  story  detailed  in  these  chap 
ters,  which  fitted  in  wonderfully  with  the 
rest  of  the  history  known  to  the  writer. 

He  was  married,  prosperous,  happy,  with 
a  lovely  wife  and  a  luxurious  home ;  and  yet 
when  he  talked  of  Loraine  Esmond  it  was 
plain  to  be  seen  that  the  finest  and  sweetest 
aspiration  of  his  life  had  been  lost  with  her, 
and  that  he  treasured  as  his  sacredest  mem 
ory  the  picture  of  rare  womanhood  she  had 
shown  him. 

It  is  a  cruel  fate  that  brings  together  and 
then  separates  forever  two  souls  so  fitted 
for  each  other  as  these.  In  Loraine,  St. 
George  had  awakened  all  that  was  sweet 
est  and  best  in  an  exalted  nature.  She  felt 
how  gracious  and  stimulating  life  with 
such  a  man  would  be;  yet  she  resolutely 
accepted  the  impossibility  of  it  for  her  and 
respected  the  obligations  she  had  assumed 
towards  another,  to  whom  her  faith  and 
duty  had  been  pledged  beyond  recall.  The 
more  exhilarating  life  which  the  graces  of 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          321 

St.  George  had  given  her  a  glimpse  of  was 
for  others.  It  was  only  a  "might  have  been" 
for  her.  She  closed  the  door  forever  on 
everything  but  the  memory  of  him ;  but  she 
paid  him,  as  we  shall  see,  the  highest  tribute 
a  woman  can  pay  to  the  man  who  has 
touched  her  heart. 

How  few  mortals,  man  or  woman,  marry 
their  ideals!  How  many  accept  life,  as 
Loraine  did,  on  a  level  lower  than  their 
best,  sighing  vainly  for  the  sweeter  exist 
ence  that,  like  the  costliest  wines,  is  re 
served  for  the  few  who  dwell  on  the  heights 
and  are  favored  of  the  gods ! 

Inexplicable  are  these  bloodless  trage 
dies  of  our  lives.  Why  are  the  apparent 
purposes  of  the  divinity  within  us 
thwarted  ?  Is  it  because  we  need  this  chas 
tening  hand — because  it  is  not  best  for  us 
to  be  too  happy?  Is  it  because  the  "divine 
despair"  that  comes  of  this  kind  of  disap 
pointment  chastens  the  bereaved  souls 
with  a  culture  more  exquisite  than  could 
be  wrought  by  the  realization  of  the  ideal 
and  of  perfect  fruition?  Who  knows? 


322          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

There  are  mysteries  of  existence  that  lie 
deeper  in  the  infinite  purpose  than  the  plum 
met  of  human  wisdom  has  yet  sounded. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          323 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

LATER  DISCOVERIES. 

Stone   walls  do   not  a  prison   make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage. 

— Lovelace. 
Unknelled,    uncoffined   and   unknown. 

Byron. 

Years  after  Harry  Esmond  had  disap 
peared  from  the  homestead  at  the  great 
elm,  the  place  was  sold,  whether  under 
financial  pressure  or  for  other  reasons  does 
not  appear,  and  the  family  which  yet  re 
mained  together  removed  to  a  place  some 
miles  lower  down  the  river.  The  new  own 
er,  a  man  of  means  and  business  thrift  (an 
nouncement  of  whose  death  at  an  advanced 
age  comes  to  hand  in  a  local  paper  even  as 
these  pages  are  being  written)  proceeded  to 
put  the  farm  in  good  condition. 

The  place  embraced  what  had  been  three 
farms  all  fronting  along  the  river.  The 
middle  of  one  ran  back  and  included  a 
great  hill  with  a  ridge  extending  to  the 


324          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

river,  and  along  its  abrupt  and  rugged  face 
the  river  road  had  been  cut  and  maintained 
with  difficulty.  Immediately  above  the 
road  the  cutting  had  exposed  one  of  the 
deep  coal  measures  that  abound  in  this  re 
gion;  and  here  for  several  years  coal  was 
taken  out  for  the  dwellings  of  proprietor 
and  tenants,  until  a  room  had  been  run 
nearly  a  hundred  feet  under  the  hill. 

The  new  owner  was  struck  by  the  acces 
sibility  of  this  old  mine,  the  depth  of  the 
vein  and  the  quality  of  the  coal.  With  a 
couple  of  lanterns  and  a  hired  man  he  one 
day  entered  on  an  exploration.  Save  a  lit 
tle  fall  of  earth  and  rock  at  the  mouth  the 
mine  was  clear  back  to  the  end  of  the  cut 
ting.  When  they  came  near  enough  to  see 
the  end  wall,  they  were  about  to  retrace 
the  way  when  happening  to  walk  a  little 
farther  they  discovered  that  the  cutting 
turned  to  the  north.  Following  this  up, 
they  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  wall  and 
were  about  to  conclude  again  that  this  was 
the  end  of  it,  when  turning  to  the  right 
they  found  the  wall  on  that  side  again  dis 
appeared.  Turning  again  into  this  angle 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          325 

they  proceeded  twenty-five  or  thirty  feet 
and  this  time  found  the  termination  of  the 
cutting. 

They  found  some  other  things  that  sur 
prised  them.  They  were  in  what  appeared 
to  be  a  deserted  stable.  There  were  evi 
dences  that  horses  had  been  quartered 
there.  Posts  were  set  against  the  end  wall, 
wedged  tightly  between  roof  and  floor, 
with  hitching  rings  in  them,  to  one  of 
v/hich  still  hung  an  old  leathern  halter, 
white  with  mildew  and  decay.  There  were 
rough  mangers  with  the  discolored  re 
mains  of  hay  and  weeds  in  them.  A  little 
distance  back,  against  the  side  walls,  were 
two  rude  benches  which  from  their  shape 
and  width  appeared  to  have  been  used  for 
bunks.  There  were  blocks  that  had  proba 
bly  served  for  seats,  and  there  was  the  half- 
decayed  seat  and  legs  of  a  wooden  chair. 
There  was  also  on  one  side  a  rude  struc 
ture  of  boards  that  had  served  the  pur 
poses  of  a  table,  and  in  an  auger-hole  in 
one  corner  of  this  was  still  a  piece  of  tal 
low  candle.  Two  posts  set  up  with  a  cross- 
piece  with  nails  had  probably  served  as  a 


326          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

hall-tree  for  coats  and  possibly  for  saddles 
and  bridles. 

The  coal  vein  rose  slightly  as  it  receded 
from  the  river.  A  little  groove  in  the  floor 
along  one  wall  had  been  cut  to  carry  the 
seepage  back  to  the  turn,  which  being  car 
ried  across  to  the  outer  room,  kept  the 
stable  and  the  mine  thoroughly  drained. 

The  owner  who  made  these  discoveries 
was  a  discreet  man.  He  knew  the  reputa 
tion  of  the  farm  before  he  bought  it,  and 
had  got  it  cheap  because  of  its  ill  repute. 
He  understood  the  significance  of  this  se 
cret  den,  but  saw  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
making  his  discoveries  public.  He  cau 
tioned  .the  man  not  to  speak  of  what  they 
had  found  and  gave  up  the  thought  of  re 
opening  the  mine.  But  the  hired  man  felt 
the  burden  of  the  secret  and  found  relief  in 
dividing  it  with  a  friend,  who  in  like  man 
ner  passed  it  along  till  it  ceased  to  be  a 
secret. 

The  next  season  that  part  of  the  farm 
known  as  the  "Dyson  place"  came  in  for  a 
cleaning  up.  The  thicket  referred  to  in 
these  chapters  was  cut  awav  and  the  ruins 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          327 

of  the  ancient  house  and  the  abandoned 
well  were  disclosed.  It  occurred  to  the 
owner  that  this  well  might  be  serviceable 
in  dry  seasons  for  watering  stock,  so  one 
day  the  hired  men  were  set  to  work  to 
clean  it  out.  Before  the  water  had  all  been 
dipped  out  it  became  so  offensive  that  an 
investigation  was  made  to  discover  the 
reason.  A  grab  hook  was  procured  and 
soon  brought  up  the  remains  of  a  human 
body,  the  bones  and  hair  being  still  intact, 
the  rotting  clothing  dropping  to  pieces  as 
it  came  up.  Horrified,  the  men  went  for 
the  proprietor;  who,  after  satisfying  him 
self  as  to  the  character  of  the  discovery, 
directed  them  to  return  the  remains  to  the 
well  and  to  bring  a  team  and  fill  it  with 
earth.  This  was  done  and  to-day  the 
kindly  turf  hides  from  all  recognition  the 
spot  where  lie  buried  from  all  contempo 
rary  knowledge  what  are  probably  the  re 
mains  of  one  who  disappeared  from  earthly 
precincts  more  than  one-third  of  a  century 
ago.  The  men  were  cautioned  not  to  men 
tion  the  grewsome  discovery  and  for  a 
good  while  kept  it  to  themselves.  But  such 


328          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

things  cannot  be  buried  by  those  who  have 
no  interest  in  their  concealment,  and  in 
time  the  discovery  became  public  property. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          329 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

REUNITED. 

Across  the  hills  and  far  away 
Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 

And  deep  into  the  dying  day, 
The  happy  princess  followed  him. 

— Day  Dream. 

Six  years  have  rolled  their  circuits 
around  the  dial  of  time  since  the  close  of 
the  war  and  the  assassination  of  Lincoln. 
The  great  conflict  seems  already  remote. 
The  scars  of  battlefields  that  belong  to  his 
tory  have  been  concealed  by  the  gentle 
hand  that  hides  us  all  in  earth's  oblivion  at 
last.  The  men  who  put  away  the  weapons 
of  offense  have  taken  up  the  occupations 
of  peace  and  concord.  The  wounds  of  af 
fection,  the  sorrows  of  desolated  homes, 
under  the  soothing  ministries  of  time,  are 
healing  into  benign  cicatrices.  Eyes  that 
were  dim  with  bereavement  are  relighting 
with  cheerfulness  and  hope. 


330  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE   ELM. 

We  pick  up  the  thread  of  our  story  on 
the  west  bank  of  the  Neosho  river,  in  the 
beautiful  valley  of  that  name,  in  sight  of 
the  thriving  town  of  Neosho  Falls,  in 
Southeastern  Kansas.  In  that  mellow  land, 
the  season  is  well  advanced.  From  the  vast 
plain  that  stretches  away  to  the  west  and 
southwest — to  the  foothills  of  the  Rockies, 
to  the  margin  of  the  Rio  Grande,  to  the 
sands  of  the  gulf — comes  up  the  delicious 
breath  of  Spring,  odorous  with  delights 
from 

— "that  sweet  South 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets," 

Tree,  grass,  herbage  and  flower  inhale 
the  glad  inspiration  as  they  awaken  from 
their  winter  torpor.  The  sweet-breathed 
kine,  scattered  over  the  swells  and  along 
the  swales,  crop  the  succulent  grasses 
which  nature's  chemistry  and  the  art  of 
man  convert  into  golden  cream  and  butter 
for  human  delectation.  The  plowman  is 
afield  with  sturdy  team  turning  the  sod 
that  nature's  alchemy  will  convert  into 
gold  for  his  coffers. 


THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.          331 

The  sun  sinks  below  the  curve  of  the 
world  and  drops  behind  the  western  wil 
derness.  The  haze  of  the  April  evening 
broadens  his  benignant  face  and  tempers 
his  smile  as,  in  a  glow  of  crimson  glory, 
he  bids  the  earth  good-night.  His  last  rays 
linger  on  a  noble  white  elm  that  lifts  its 
head  beside  the  river  where  a  well-kept 
farm,  with  a  pretty  cottage  and  neat  farm 
buildings,  bathes  its  feet  in  the  glistening 
Neosho.  The  cottage  stands  facing  the 
river,  along  whose  margin  a  number  of 
cottonwoods,  great  and  small,  seem  to 
wait  upon  the  greater  elm,  as  faithful 
henchmen  attend  a  chief. 

In  the  rear  door  of  this  cottage  stands 
a  young,  fresh,  beautiful  woman,  with  dark 
hair  and  lustrous  brown  eyes,  whom  we 
have  seen  before.  The  face  is  a  little  more 
rounded  than  of  old;  the  eyes  no  brighter, 
no  more  alluring,  but  more  contented  and 
happy;  the  lips  as  sweet  in  their  reserve, 
but  not  so  sad  in  the  droop  of  the  cupid's 
bow,  as  in  days  gone  by. 

At  her  side  is  a  lovely  boy  of  some  four 
summers  whom  we  recognize  as  a  duo- 


332          THE  DAUGHTER  OF  T"HE  ELM. 

decimo  edition  of  the  woman — the  same 
brown  eyes,  the  same  dark  locks,  the  same 
sweetness  of  mouth  and  strength  of  chin. 

They  are  looking  toward  the  plowed 
field  whence  the  husband  and  father,  his 
day's  labor  being  ended,  is  driving  his 
team  to  the  barn.  Now  he  is  at  the  barn 
yard  gate,  and  the  child  shouts  and  dances 
with  delight.  In  a  few  minutes  more  the 
farmer  has  ungeared  and  put  away  the 
horses,  and  comes  toward  the  house  with 
springy  step,  head  erect  and  bright  of  eye. 
The  little  boy  springs  down  the  steps  and 
runs  along  the  path,  is  lifted  and  tossed  in 
the  air,  and  rides  to  the  house  on  one 
shoulder,  with  arms  clinging  lovingly 
around  his  father's  neck  and  calling  to  his 
mother  to  see  his  "horse."  Loraine  ad 
vances  to  meet  them  and  to  reward  her 
husband's  toil  with  the  touch  of  her  lips 
and  the  love  in  her  eyes. 

The  farmer  is  a  sturdy,  almost  stalwart, 
man  whom  we  recognize  despite  the  trans 
formation  wrought  by  time  and  ennobling 
purpose.  He  has  grown  and  expanded  in 
physical  proportions  as  well  at  moral,  and 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  333 

seems  more  stalwart  than  his  inches  would 
verify  because  of  the  manly,  confident 
bearing  that  attends  him.  He  is  "Captain 
Holmes"  to  his  Kansas  neighbors  and  by 
them  well  respected. 

*     *     * 

After  supper,  they  carry  chairs  and  rugs 
out  upon  the  front  porch,  for  Loraine  likes 
to  look  at  the  river  and  the  elm.  A  few 
minutes  later  Uncle  Andy  Morrow,  who 
owns  the  adjoining  farm  and  who  pioneered 
the  way  into  this  valley — and  selected  this 
quarter-section  for  George  and  Loraine 
because  of  the  fine  elm  on  the  river  bank — 
crosses  the  stile  and  comes  on  to  the  house, 
accompanied  by  a  widowed  daughter. 

The  little  boy  runs  out  to  meet  them 
and  wins  another  ride  to  the  porch.  The 
old  man  sits  down  with  the  rest  and  the 
little  fellow  climbs  on  his  knee  and  wants 
a  story. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  little  man?" 
asks  Uncle  Andy. 

"O,  you  know." 


334  THE   DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM. 

"I  used  to  know,  but  I  forget.  My  mem 
ory  is  failing,"  says  the  old  man,  smiling 
tenderly  at  the  child." 

"George  St.  George  Holmes,"  lisps  the 
sweet  childish  treble. 

"Now  what  did  you  ask  me  for?"  he  de 
mands. 

"I  like  to  hear  you  say  it,"  replies  Uncle 
Andy. 

"Mamma  likes  to  hear  me  say  it,  too," 
says  the  ingenuous  child ;  "and  when  I  say 
it  for  her  she  kisses  me,  and  one  time  she 
cried." 


The  glowing  sky  fades  in  the  darkening 
East,  and  silence,  like  a  benediction,  falls 
on  the  little  group.  They  sit  and  look  to 
wards  the  river  and  the  eyes  of  Loraine 
rest  tenderly  on  the  lofty  elm;  but  beyond 
these  their  thoughts  go  out  to  the  distant 
homes  they  left  among  the  hills  and  valleys 
of  Virginia— not  all  with  regrets  on  the 
part  of  the  young  people,  for  to  them  it 
was  a  land  of  bondage  and  terror  from 
which  they  have  been  delivered. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  ELM.  335 

The  little  boy  nestles  his  curls  sleepily 
on  Uncle  Andy's  breast,  and  Loraine 
draws  her  chair  nearer  to  George's  and 
lays  her  hand  lovingly  in  his;  and  in  the 
delicious  stillness  of  the  evening  an  unex 
pressed  communion  of  thought,  alternately 
sweet  and  painful,  tempers  their  hearts  to 
humility.  With  deep  thankfulness,  with 
love  for  one  another  and  fondest  affection 
for  the  young  life  entrusted  to  their  keep 
ing;  with' remembrance  for  all  left  behind, 
and  pity  for  those  who  went  astray  and  al 
most  wrecked  their  lives ;  with  mingled  joy 
and  sorrow;  with  hope  and  trust  for  the 
future — they  sit  long  after  the  last  twilight 
has  withdrawn  from  the  sky,  until  the 
kindly  stars  come  out  of  its  darkened 
depths  and  beam  on  them  with  a  promise 
of  happier  days. 


A  000  926  342  7 


PS 

3*15 
HlU5d 
1907 


